


Georgia Sky

by Riastarstruck



Series: Georgia Sky [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, No sex -but feelings, UST, Violence, brief Daryl/OMC, probably not as dark as the tags make it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riastarstruck/pseuds/Riastarstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A violent murder on the outskirts of Kings County propels the lives of Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon into orbit of one another.</p><p>Friendship develops between the two men, despite their different worlds, personal problems and the ongoing investigation which impacts the both of them. </p><p>(No walker AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off I want to apologise and warn about the language used in this fic, I loath the language certain characters use but felt it was necessary to remain true to the characters (God damn you Merle).
> 
> Secondly, this will be updated regularly as it's already basically written.  
> This whole thing started because I was inspired to write the opening scene to chapter 2. 
> 
> I am alos looking for a Beta if anyone is interested :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy

Rick Grimes was a lean figure silhouetted against the pale blue Georgian sky on the side of the wide empty road. Head bowed he stared at the beaten figure at his feet.

He could hear Shane to his left talking to the young couple that had found the body. Their baby sat on its mother’s hip and stared at Rick over her shoulder wide eyed and curious. Rick looked back at it blankly, listening with half an ear to the conversation.

They didn’t know anything, they were just unfortunate enough to have been the first car to pass by and spot the form on the side of the road.

Rick looked back at the body on the ground. His face was a beaten, bloody mess. There looked to be what could be a boot tread on his face, though it was hard to tell amongst the dirt and blood.

His hands didn’t show any obvious defensive wounds, not even bloody knuckles indicative of a fight; which suggests he’d been restrained or unconscious when he was beaten, poor bastard hadn’t had the chance to fight back.

He was dressed in worn flannel and denim and he’d lost a boot somewhere along the way, the exposed sock was grey and dirty with a hole in the big toe. Rick found his eye straying to the small spot of exposed skin, attention caught by the vulnerability of that small stretch of skin.

He squatted down to look more closely at the left hand which was curled tightly into a fist. He heard the crunch of boots on loose gravel as Shane approached, waving to the young couple as they drove away before letting out a long low whistle as he neared.

“That’s a hell of a mess.” Rick nodded. “Takes a lot of anger to do that.” Rick pushed up from the ground and moved to his partner’s side, they both surveyed the scene.

The ground was too dry and hard to have any clear prints, despite the mess of scuffs and tyre tracks. It was a blur of road dust and wasn’t likely to be much help.

“Not much blood for all that violence.” Rick said, turning to meet Shanes gaze.

“You think he was moved here?”

“Seems likely.”

Rick’s eyes wandered down the long ribbon of road which stretched out into the distance. Empty paddocks ran to the horizon on either side, the occasional tree standing tall against the powder blue sky. There were no buildings in sight, the road was isolated, leading from nowhere in particular to the back roads of Kings County.

Rick felt the warm breeze flutter against his skin and the hot sun beat down on them. It was a lonely place to die, one of the barest parts of the county.

He grit his teeth against the thought and the pair split off to survey the rest of the area as they waited for the coroner and the ambulance to arrive.

Further down the road Rick found what looked like the missing shoe, it lay half obscured by scrub bush some distance from the road, as though thrown out of a car when they noticed it was with them. The road lead into Kings County in that direction, that suggesting this violence was local and there was something so wrong in his town that a man was beaten to death.

This wasn’t violence that had crept into their borders, this was likely home grown.

Glancing back the way he’d come, he watched as the shape of his partner wandered in a lazy zig zag along the road, his attention half on the phone in his hand and half on the approaching ambulance and car.

Rick took a deep breath of the hot dry Georgian air. It smelt like dust and asphalt, earthy and hot in his lungs.

He watched from a distance as the coroner knelt beside the body, her head bowed and her movements precise.

Rick let Shane deal with them for now and turned to look out across the paddocks. The sun was bright, making the world indistinct and hazy with the harshness of it. Tilting his head up towards the sun he let the warmth settle sharply against his face.

The stillness of the place would have been peaceful at any other time, away from civilisation with only the sun and sky your witness. No pressure to perform correctly, no responsibilities to weigh you down. No disappointing people and not knowing why.

Rick heaved a heavy sigh which seemed to tear from the very bottom of his lungs before turning sharply on his heel and moving towards the small group on the side of the road.

 

The coroner was a sharp eyed woman named Candice who worked as an ER doctor at the local hospital and part time with the Kings County Sheriff’s department. She was a keen eyed woman with a sharp tongue and kind smile, she’d acted as coroner for the sheriff’s department for as long as Rick had been there and hadn’t seemed to age a day in all that time.

Rick always got the feeling she didn’t like Shane very much, found his charm annoying though he didn’t seem to notice.

Shane was nothing if not an outrageous flirt and did it without thinking. Most women found it charming, Shane was magnetic in that way.

Candice however was immune to his charms, her thin eyebrow would ride up sharply at him but she’s always made a point of remained coolly efficient and professional which Rick admired.

In the county morgue the body lay stripped on a long metal table. Candice stood at his head, gloved hands steady as she gestured to the man on the table.

“This is twenty-nine year old Robert Rodrigues –his prints were in the system. Frequent user, meth would be my bet but we have to wait for tox to be sure. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the skull. I’ll take a closer look but so far it looks like it was a bat or metal pipe that finished him off, most of the damage was done with fists and shoes.

“His alcohol level is high. Bruising on his arms and legs indicate he was held down during the attack. Pretty violent assault, there’s signs of internal bleeding, broken bones.” She gestured to the dark splashes on his body and pointing to the odd looking bloom of colour on the lower abdomen and side.

“I’ll give you more in the official report but it looks pretty cut and dry that he died from the beating. Time of death looks like somewhere between midnight and five am.” Rick nodded and looked down at the stripped body on the table in front of him.

“Anything in the clothes?” Candice shook her head, lips pursed and glanced at the bagged clothes off to the side.

“Not much, pockets were probably emptied.” Rick looked at Shane who hovered near the bench at the door. Shane always got antsy in the morgue avoiding the bodies while making it look like he wasn’t, Rick didn’t mind it down here. He found it quiet, calm.

Shane nodded to him and pushed off the bench where he was leant and moved out of the room. Rick shared an amused smile with Candice who chuckled quietly at his retreating partner. He thanked her and left the room when she waved his off absently, already getting to work.

Shane was in the hospital lobby four floors up when Rick caught up with him. His phone was pressed to his ear and he was writing in his notebook he’d perched on a narrow shelf on the far side of the room to the elevators. He was nodding as he noted things down, dark head bobbing in an awkward bend as he wrote and held the phone to his ear.

This was a tough call to land first thing in the morning. Tough at the best of times but there was a strange horror to death in the bright early sunshine, wrong somehow. Death belonged in the shadows, obscured by darkness and monumental seeming in the late hour. The brightness of a new day was too fresh, too clean to fully convey the horror of such violence, it always seemed staged in a way which unsettled Rick more than he felt it should.

Rick wandered to the vending machine in the corner and looked suspiciously at the coffee choices as he waited for Shane to finish up. He’d always felt that bad coffee went hand in hand with police work, a notion brought on by watching too many cop shows and detective movies as a kid, but something about these vending machines always left him suspicious of the contents for some reason he couldn’t pin point.  

Shane ended his call and shot Rick a smug smile, effectively breaking Ricks staring contest with the machine.

“What we got?” He made an about turn and headed to his partners side.  

“Rodrigues was a part of the Claimers, biker gang lead by Joe Kober.” Rick raised his eyebrows in question. “Bet you a round of beers that’s what got him dead.” Rick scratched absently at his jaw, he hadn’t had the chance to shave this morning and the stubble was rough against his fingertips.

“Got Kobers address?” Rick asked as they moved together across the lobby and out into the harsh brightness of the hospital carpark. Shane tapped at his notebook in his chest pocket and nodded.

“Kober’s the foreman for the construction down Rosewood. Figure we can start there.”   

“Sounds good. We know much about the Claimers?”

“Nothing really concrete, suspected involvement in a whole range of things but nothing’s ever stuck. Otherwise their just rowdy I think. They’ve all been arrested at some point, but that’s just ‘cause they’re scum, not bikers.” Rick settled into the drivers’ seat, sinking deep in to the familiar leather, hot to the touch and soft from sitting in the early summer sun.  

Shane, finished with his information sharing, rambled on at his side about the blonde nurse he’d seen at the hospital. _“Boobs out to here, I swear brother.”_ And Rick let his friend fill in the quiet as they drove through the minimal traffic.  

 

Joe Kober was a tall, broad man in his late fifties, grey hair on the long side but neatly trimmed. He had well-groomed white facial hair, a wide friendly looking smile and cold hard eyes that stared straight through you. He seemed friendly but there was something about the curl of his mouth, the steadiness of his gaze and the confident way he held his large frame that made Rick tense.

Shane took the lead, seemingly unaware or unconcerned of the tell-tale signs of danger evident on the large man in front of them. Rick trusted his gut in all things, if his gut was saying avoid, retreat, threat near-by, he listened to it and he liked to think it’s what made him a good cop.

Rick stayed close to the door and watched the pair as they talked. What he saw didn’t put him at ease, there was nothing obvious which put him off -just a feeling he got when he met the cold steady eyes, he reminded Rick of a predator off a nature documentary, cold, calm and dangerous.

They left twenty minutes later, Kober clapping a hand down on Shanes shoulder in a friendly manner and let out a booming laugh at something Shane had said as he showed the pair off the construction site.

They’d hit it off, Kober wasn’t a charmer like Shane but he read Rick’s partner like a cereal packet and knew exactly how to act around him. He’d told them he’d last seen Rodrigues on Saturday night at a get together at his place, he helpfully gave a list of people who had been there and had promised to ask around and see if anyone had heard or seen anything.

He’d been helpful and accommodating, though Rick noticed he seemed neither shocked nor saddened to hear about the death of his friend.

Rick nodded his thanks to the man and walked with Shane towards the cruiser, he couldn’t shake the feeling of heavy eyes on him and when he glanced back as he lowered himself into the car he caught a glimpse of Kober’s expression, pale eyes narrowed and lip curled in an expression Rick couldn’t read.

 

The list of names Kober had given then lead them across Kings County to a string of absent or unhelpful men. Each man they interviewed was resistant and verging on hostile towards the two cops sticking their noses into their business.

Kober had been affable and friendly while he kept his aces close to his chest, the other members of his group weren’t as skilled at playing ignorant. They postured and snarled, angling for a fight or refusing to speak to them at all. Predictable behaviour for men like this and by late afternoon Rick felt weary and frustrated, any one of them could have done it, or all of them together, he just didn’t know _why_.

They’d gotten nothing from the five men they’d managed to track down beside a vague reference to Rodrigues having talked about leaving town and having pulled away from the group, possibly because of a girl, possibly because of a job opportunity across the country and most bizarrely, something to do with his mother though their records showed she’d been dead for over ten years now.

There was no doubt they were hiding something. Though they’d failed to get a solid account of the evening or Rodrigues’ movements for the night. They’d been told he’d left the party at eight, ten and midnight, that he’d left with some woman and alone, by foot and on his hog.

With each new layer of the gang closing ranks Shane grew tenser and sharper, his frustration bleeding out and making him more snappish and mean with each new uncooperative witness they left.

The stifling heat didn’t help, it clung to them like a physical thing making their stiff uniforms nearly unbearably comfortably as it stuck to them. Rick could feel the grit of road dust on his skin and in the back of his throat making each breath he took taste like heat, dust and the lingering exhaust which seemed to permeate wherever these men inhabited.

Shane threw himself into the passenger seat after witness number six claimed to have absolutely no memory of Saturday night whatsoever. He slamming the car door closed and grinding his teeth as he glared out the windshield at the trailer park they pulled out of.

“I’m starved man, let’s get some burgers.” Rick latched onto the idea like a dying man. Anything to have a break for a moment, and as the late afternoon sun beat down against them, he noticed the gnawing hunger that had settled into his gut along with the frustration of fruitless enquires.  

They settled in to their seats in the cruiser like they have a hundred times before, burgers familiar and satisfying. Rick inhaled his own, not having realised how hungry he’d been until the burger was in his hands.

Shane chewed loudly in the passenger seat, head bobbing to his own thoughts and so familiar it brought a smile to Rick’s face, this was his brother, his partner, the guy who’d had his back since they were kids and Rick was still the weedy little implant form Atlanta and Shane, for whatever reason, had decided they’d be best friends.

He knew Shane would always be there for him and maybe that’s why he felt comfortable enough to share some of the thoughts that felt like they were pressing down on his chest, suffocating him.

He was furious and hurt, two feelings that warred within him and he needed someone to tell him it was all going to be okay so Rick could go home and be happy and spend his time at work solving this case and not thinking about the problems at home, the thoughts running through his mind over and over again until it made him sick.

“What’s the difference between men and women?” Rick finally asked, eyes ahead, looking at the dirt on the wind shield.  

“This a joke?” Shane distractedly shoved a bunch of fries in his mouth.

“No, serious.” He could see Shane glance at him as he chewed. Shane hated serious conversations, he deflected and joked and wove around the point until all parties had forgotten the original point to the conversation. It was a diversionary tactic he’d learnt in high school to excuse his missing homework. It worked surprisingly well, and maybe that’s what Rick wanted, to be distracted from the point, the bitter, hurt thoughts that tumbled around his head.

“Never met a woman who knew how to turn off a light.” Rick felt a corner of his mouth curl up. “Born thinking the switch only goes one way –on.” Shane continued, “I mean every woman I’ve ever let have a key I swear to god, it’s like, come home, house all lit up and my job apparently coz my chromosomes happen to be different means I then got to walk through that house and turn off every single light this chick left on.”

“Is that right?” he humoured his friend, letting the distraction take root.

“Yeah baby, mmm.” He was laying it on thick, strengthening his drawl and it made Rick smile like Shane knew it would. “Oh, Reverend Shane’s a preacher to you now boy.

“Then this same chick mind you, she’ll bitch about _Global Warming_ and here’s where Reverend Shane wants to quote from the Guy Gospel and say, ‘ _Darling, maybe if you and every other pair of boobs on this planet just figure out that this light switch, see, goes both ways, maybe we wouldn’t have so much global warming_ ’.”

“You say that?” Rick interjects, Shane loves nothing more than audience participation.

“Oh yeah, pull out version” Rick huffs a laugh and Shane joins him, they share a grin as Shane continues. “Still man, that earns me this look of loathing you would not believe, and that’s when the exorcist voice pops out, ‘ _You sound just like my fa-_ theer _, always yelling about the power bill, telling me to turn off the damn light’_.” He makes his voice hoarse, his eyes going briefly wide and mad like the girls he dated.

“And what do you say to that?” Rick eggs on.

“I know what I want to say, I wanna say: ‘ _Bitch, you mean you have been hearing this your entire life and you are still too damn stupid to learn how to turn off a switch?’_ I don’t actually want to say that though, that would be bad, I go with the polite version instead.” He’s pleased with himself, getting into his story and Rick goes along for the ride, pretending life’s as simple and predicable as Shane lives it.

“Very wise.” He says seriously, and Shane shoots him a delighted look enjoying the roll of story teller, master to pupil, Reverend to parishioner. Shane loves nothing more than being looked at.

They sink into silence and they both realise it wasn’t enough to distract, the conversation they haven’t had lingers between them, making the patrol car feel small and airless in the hot afternoon.

Rick plays with the scrunched up wrapper that came with his burger, folding a loose corner back and forth, letting the waxed paper grow thin and limp under his abuse. Today, Shane is the braver of the two, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting quickly to Rick and away.

“So how is it with Lori man?” Shane doesn’t really like talking about Lori, never has since they were eighteen and Rick realised he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Lori and Shane realised she wasn’t just a girlfriend who would be gone by the end of summer.

Rick steeled himself, he wanted to have this conversation, he wanted to talk about what was going on, and the truth was he had no one but Shane to talk to.

Shane and Lori were his entire world, and they were both far more outgoing then him, more welcoming and the friends they each had, while friendly with Rick, were ultimately _Lori’s_ or _Shane’s_. Rick had never felt the need to expand his world beyond those closest to him.

“She’s good, she’s good at turning off lights, really good,” he said fondly, “I’m the one that sometimes forgets.” Shane shot him a betrayed look, but it was half arsed at best. Rick grit his teeth.  “We didn’t have a great night.” And he was aware that was far from the first time he’d uttered those words.

“Hey look man, I may have failed to amuse with my sermon but I did try, the least you could do is speak.”

“That’s what she always says. Speak, _speak_. You’d think I was the most closed mouth sonovabitch ever to hear her talk.” Frustration bloomed, “Do you express your thoughts? Do you share your feelings? That kind of stuff?” He shook his head, not really wanting a reply. “Thing is, lately whenever I try everything I say makes her… impatient, like she didn’t want to hear it after all. Like she’s pissed at me all the time and I don’t know why.” He sounded disturbingly close to desperate at the end, his voice wavering because he didn’t know what to do and it was driving him crazy not knowing and his ignorance just seemed to make Lori madder.

“Look man that’s just shit couples go through, it’s a phase” A phase. He’d been saying that to himself for weeks now, clinging to it until his nails tore and he clung some more with bloody fingertips, but his grip was fading, what if it wasn’t just a phase? What if it was worse than that?

“Last thing she said to me this morning, ‘ _Sometimes_ _I wonder if you care about us at all._ ’ She said that in front of our kid, imagine going to school with that in your head.” Shane looked torn, and Rick felt the ache of it in his chest, the look on his sons face haunted him and Lori hadn’t even noticed. “Difference between men and women? I would never say something that cruel to her, certainly not in front of Carl.”

And he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Lori may piss him off on occasions, may frustrate him and confuse the fuck out of him but he loved her, he loved her like he did when they first met and he could never be so cruel, his mama had taught him not to ever be so callous. Shane chewed slowly, wide eyed and not knowing what to say. Rick didn’t know either.

Rick tossed the wrapper in the general direction of their rubbish bag and Shane shoved his last few fries in his mouth and followed suit. They settled into their seats properly in unspoken agreement and Rick started the car.

“So who’s next on our list?” Shane scrounged for his note pad, licking grease and salt off his fingertips as he flipped to the right page. He let out a noise that could have been a groan of pain, Rick glanced at him.

“Merle Dixon.” His voice was like acid. Rick sighed deeply and set his hands on the wheel and nodded. “Waste of fucking time, he’s not going to say anything.”

“Got to question every one of them.” Rick said, though he sure wasn’t happy about it. Shane rolled his eyes and rested his arm on the rolled down window of the passenger seat, his fingers running through his hair.

“Redneck waste of space.” Shane grumbled to himself as they set off.

Shane had had the pleasure of pulling a drunken, hollering Dixon out of a bar not so long ago. He’d gotten a bruised face and a headache for his troubles and was obviously still smarting from the event. Merle was a tough son of a bitch who fought like an animal and wasn’t afraid of doing damage.

Every cop in the county knew about the Dixons, no surprise really that they were involved with the Claimers, bad attracted bad and as far as most people were concerned, there was no worst that Merle Dixon. From what Rick heard, he took after his daddy and had a record a mile long.

Shane was right, they wouldn’t get anything from Merle but Rick believed in following protocol, it was there for a reason and even without cooperating some things got answered, whether Dixon realised it or not.

As he drove out of town and into the more isolated properties he tried to clear his mind, to set aside any personal problems and not think of anything for a little while so he could let the calm lawman persona step forth, cool, calm and collected, capable of anything with a gun at his side and a badge on his chest.

He felt it settle over him like a soothing balm and he felt the brief stirring of pride he always felt at his job, a cop, a good guy. It was what he’d always believed he was meant to be.

 

The Dixon property was an isolated one, backed on three sides by the woods and the road leading up to it was a cracked, hard packed dirt side road. It opened out into the patchy front yard, patches of grass sprouted up and grew tall and wild looking between the stretches of bare dirt. The two cars and motorcycle were parked across what would have been a front yard for most other houses.

The house itself was a squat boxy affair on the small side, the interior looked dark in the late day brightness and seemingly abandoned scrap metal and car parts were scattered around the property.

Merle Dixon was squatting at the side of his bike when they pulled up. He watched them with narrowed eyes before getting to his feet. He moved towards the house and kept his eyes on them as Rick pulled the car up some distance away and the two of them got out and approached together.

Merle spat on the ground when he deemed them close enough and Rick clenched his teeth but came to a halt. He kept his hands purposely loose at his side, away from his gun but ready to move if necessary.

Merle eyed them, cold pale eyes narrowed and taking in everything. Rick felt Shane shift at his side and he knew he was squaring up, pulling his shoulders back to properly show the size of him. He’d always been bigger than Rick and had used his size and his build since they were kids. It had always worked. Rick had had to learn to be faster, to use his speed and wiry build. Rick felt like he hid his ability well, Shane never even attempted to.

“Come on out little brother, we got ourselves some visi- _tors._ ” Everything Merle said came out mocking somehow, like a punchline to a joke they weren’t privy to. It set Ricks teeth on edge, like he knew it was meant to.

Dixon eyed their uniforms as though they were offensive and cast a particularly hateful glance in Shane’s direction, his eyes lingering on his tan skin and dark eyes and hair.

Rick’s eyes wandered to the faded confederate flag over the window and breathed deeply through his nose, forcing a calm across his body, he didn’t want this to become a fight, he just wanted to do the job and get out without incident.

There was the sound of heavy steps and the screen door screeching and banged loudly to signal the arrival of the brother. Shane shifted at Rick’s side and he knew he was planting his feet and re-setting his weight, preparing for a fight.  

The brother wasn’t what Rick was expecting. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, a duplicate Merle perhaps, all bared teeth and aggression, thick set and sneering.

He could see they were brothers, something in the way they both stood poised to fight, how he moved automatically to flank Merle in a sign of support and a display of strength.

They were about the same height but where Merle was heavy and built like an ox, thick limbs and obvious strength behind his bulk, his brother was whipcord lean with muscles and coiled strength, he looked wily, like a snake just waiting to writhe out of a trap.

Merles hair was cropped short, habit or preference from his time in the military no doubt. His brother wore it shaggy, it was just beginning to fall around his face and cover his ears and hard eyes stared out of a surprisingly delicate face from beneath the locks of golden brown.

The most striking difference between them was their postures. Rick watched them closely, Merle stood proud, chest out and thick arms ready at his sides. He looked ready for a fight, cocky and sure of himself. He was used to his weight and size giving him the advantage. His brother though, was hunched in on himself as though trying to make himself as small as possible. But he was poised to strike, his eyes darting around the area taking it all in and his arms tensed as though prepared to take a hit or unleash one.

Where Merle stood firm, his weight squared between his planted legs and looking as solid as a truck the younger Dixon shifted on the balls of his feet, seeming to weave in preparation, shifting his weight to the best position even as he remained still at his brothers side.

Looking at the two of them they came across as a formidably duo, not many people got the best of them separately no doubt and even fewer, if any, could take them together.

Watching the pair however Rick found his eyes straying to the younger brother, there was a focus to him which made Rick wary. Merle was cocky, getting soft around the middle from arrogance and lack of practice. The younger brother however, there was something about him which suggested he never underestimated an opponent and would fight to the death if he had to.

Rick didn’t want to come up against that.    

“Mr Dixon,” Shane scoffed at his side, almost in sync with Merle’s own snarling laugh, Rick pressed on. “You were at Joe Kober’s Saturday night, so I’m sure you’re aware of the incident that happened.” Merle remained still, expression unchanging.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about Officer.”

“Cut the crap man.” Shane snarled, Rick shot him look that was ignored. “Guy beaten to death ring any bells?” The brother shot Merle a look, surprise instead of checking how to react Rick noticed, so the brother honestly wasn’t involved, probably hadn’t been at the party. Rick checked that off his mental list and shifted his attention more fully to Merle.

“Oh shoot, I might remember hearing something like that.” Merle said, big theatrics and mocking grin.

“We just want to know what happened, if you saw anything.” Rick cut in, he shot a look at Shane but he was focused solely on Merle who stared right back.

“Takes a real man to beat a skinny guy like that to death.” Rick grit his teeth and sent a pray up that Shane wasn’t really as stupid as he was playing at.

“I don’t need to fuck up some prissy spick to know I’m a man, I just went to a friends for a drink. Is that okay _officer_? Ain’t a man allowed a drink no more?” Rick nodded, raising his hands in a placating gesture and tried to move subtly in front of Shane.

“We have to ask these questions to everyone who was there, it’s nothing personal Mr Dixon.” Shane scoffed behind him and Rick set his teeth so he didn’t say anything, they needed to represent a united force.

“Redneck fuck, of course he’s involved.” Shane muttered.

“What you say to me boy?” Merle lost his good humour, mouth twisting into a sneer and voice going deep and threatening.

“Merle-” the younger brother tried but Merle ignored him, taking a threatening step forward and Rick shot his hand out to hold Shane back when he stepped forward in reply.  

“I said a hick like you is always involved.”

“That’s what I thought.” Merle spat and lunging forward with all the force of a truck.

Rick had to turn to hold Shane back but he saw the younger brother leap forward to hold his brother even before Merle had taken a full step forward. Shane tried to push past him but Rick shoved hard, sending Shane stumbling backwards cursing like a sailor.

“The hell is the matter with you? Go back to the car!” When he looked as though he would take another leap at the Dixon’s Rick gave him another shove and a stern look. “Go!” he ordered and Shane obeyed.

He turned back to the brothers now sprawled on the ground, the younger brother having snaked his arms around Merles neck to hold him back and their legs kicked against the ground sending up dust as they fought.

“Get yer hands off me!” The brother did and Merle got to his feet in a quick roll, he cast a dark look at Rick, spitting once more in his direction before sending a dark look towards his brother and storming away around the side of the house.

The younger Dixon remained sprawled across the ground. He heaved a sigh and flung an arm over his eyes.

Dust covered him, it was painted thick against exposed arms and turning the dark material of his pants sandy.

“I’m sorry about my partner.” Rick rasped, his voice felt dry and he was painfully aware of the sweat that clung uncomfortably to his heavy uniform.

Dixon flung his arm to the side before he pulled himself up into a seated position, legs kicked out in front of him and arms braced on his raised knees.

“Piece of shit should learn to watch his mouth.” Rick nodded absently. Looking back to the cruiser. Shane was leaning against it, head down as he played on his phone. He looked back at the man on the ground.

“It is just routine enquires, nothing personal against your brother.”

“For you maybe.” Rick found himself pinned by sharp, narrowed blue eyes. He got the feeling he was prey being assessed and he stood still and forced a calm over his body, wildcats only chased prey that ran. The man’s focus was steady and heavy until finally the younger man’s gaze slid away.

“Well thanks for your time Mr Dixon.” Rick offered somewhat lamely.

“Daryl.” He said with a growl to his surprisingly light voice and chin jutted as though challenging, though Rick couldn’t see why. He nodded.

“Daryl than.” And turned back to his car ignoring Shane as he moved past him and into the drivers’ seat, eyes fixed ahead as Shane climbed into the passenger seat, radiating smugness as though he’d won something. Rick grit his teeth and set his hands purposely on the wheel so he didn’t slap his partner upside the head like he deserved.

“The hell was that man?” he asked calmly as they pulled onto the road and the Dixon’s house disappeared from his rear view.

“I’m sick of dealing with these pieces of shit and Dixon’s the worst of them.”

“I get it, I do man really. But the Sherriff will chain you to your desk personally if you get into another fight this month and I need you with me man.”

“Yeah well the sheriff can suck my dick.” He glanced at Rick and slumped into his seat. “Ah shit, I know brother, it’s just these scum. We are doing our job and these cocksuckers are doing everything they can to make that difficult for us. This Rodrigues kid was one of their own and not a one of them gives a damn. Hell, if they can turn on their own like that why should we be out here risking our necks? You got a family man, a wife and kid and they are a hundred times better than these scum, we should look after them, people that matter.” There was something about the way he worded that which unsettled Rick but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  

“The law says everyone matter.”

“Yeah well the law don’t have to deal with these people.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Shane shot him a smile, the corners of his eyes looked tense but he rolled his neck to relieve tension

“You damn boy scout.” Rick laughed.

 

That night Rick sat at the dining room table and observed his small family. Lori sat opposite him and Carl to his left. His son chattered cheerfully to fill the quiet but Rick saw the looks he darted at his parents when he thought no one was paying attention. He looked concerned, confused and annoyed. Rick wanted to sigh deeply, to lay his hands on his son’s shoulders and tell him everything was going to be okay but he honestly didn’t know if that was the truth.

He looked at Lori whose gaze had drifted out the window as she chewed carefully on her small mouthful. He didn’t know when things had gotten bad between them, when the silence had become strained instead of comfortable. Perhaps that was what frustrated him most, not that the silence existed, but that he didn’t know why and that meant he didn’t know how to fix it.  

He wondered idly if Lori even wanted to fix it, if she saw their marriage as something worthwhile or if she had already written it and him off as unsustainable. The thought made him chew more viciously as he nodded along to Carl’s story.

Lori looked at him from across the table, her mouth pinched with displeasure and eyes tight as she watched him and Rick wanted to throw his hands up and ask what he’d done now.

Lori had already proved that morning that she wasn’t concerned about getting into this in front of Carl and Rick would be damned if he was going to show the same cruelty to his son. No one should have to listen to that, to have that in their head.

Rick ignored Lori as best he could, he cleaned the dishes in the empty kitchen. Attention tunnelled to the soap sheen on the bubbles and the cooling water on his hands as he worked meticulously through the task, the sound of the TV in the next room a homey sound which he allowed to fill his mind with warmth.

He’d never doubted in his job to protect these people and families like his, he’d grown up dreaming of it, of protecting those that needed it and looking out for his town like a guardian. He supposed as a kid he’d never thought of the more undesirable parts of a town, the parts of the community that people didn’t talk about, the bikers and the drunks, they didn’t feature into his dream of protector but he’d never written them off either, he’d never really questioned that that was a part of his job.

Shane obviously had, had deemed some more deserving of protection. The thought unsettled Rick -that someone might be undeserving for whatever reason. He could see it, of course he could, he’d spent the day talking to the least desirable members of the county but he didn’t like the thought of writing them off just because he didn’t like them. He shook his head and cast the thought from his mind, listening with half an ear to the tv in the other room.

Slowly, as the pile of dirty dishes shrunk, he felt the tension ease from his shoulders and he let himself take comfort in Shane’s words from earlier.

It was just a phase, Lori’s gotten something in her head and it’ll all sort itself out in no time. The last thing the situation needed was Rick getting angry and defensive.

It was with a lighter heart that Rick crawled into bed that night. He turned to his side and watched as Lori flicked a page in her novel, she was haloed by the bedside lamp and looked beautiful.

He slid a hand across the sheets to rest on her hip. At contact she let out a heavy sigh but ignored him. Rick moved closer slowly, taking that as acceptance.

With a huff Lori closer her book and set it on the bedside table as she stood up and stalked out the bedroom door and down the hall.

Rick rolled onto his back and stared up at the shadowed ceiling as he listened to her enter the kitchen. He rolled onto his side, beat the pillow until it was sitting right and closed his eyes, feeling the lightness inside fade and be replaced with the same sick tension in his gut he’d been feeling all day.

When he closed his eyes he saw the beaten face of Rodrigues staring back at him, could almost feel the hot sun on his back and taste the road dust. He drifted off to sleep, but it wasn’t restful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to underacherrytree for Betaing this for me!  
> This opening scene is to blame for this whole damn story, I just had to write something to put it in lol!  
> Enjoy

The thin paper of the clothing catalogue was flimsy under his hands. It stuck to his clammy fingertips and seemed excruciatingly loud in the small cramped bathroom.

Daryl’s breath was loud and unsteady in his ears as he licked his lips in anticipation and flicked clumsily through the pages, slowing his pace when he found what he was looking for.

He cast a furtive glance at the closed door behind him and cocked his head as he listened for his brother. He could hear the heavy booted footsteps far off outside along with the wispy threads of whistling, nearly at the edge of his hearing.

He swallowed thickly and looked back at the catalogue laid out on the basin. The room always seemed small, and it seemed even smaller when he did this.

Daryl focused on the pictures on display, let his eyes wander over the smiling faces of the girls, their wide mouths and tousled hair. His eyes lingered on the unruly curls of a thin brunette woman. His eyes trailed down the line of her throat and his breath shuddered when he came to the swell of breasts clothed in a blue cotton bra.

With another quick glance at the door he let his hand wander down his chest, rubbing absently as he traced the line of the fabric across her breasts with his gaze.

He pressed down against the swell beginning to form in his pants and bit his lip to hold back the noise that rose in his throat at the touch.

His hand grew firmer and surer as he flicked to the next page, a double page spread of a woman in profile lying on a bed, one leg pulled up and sitting up on her elbows as she threw her head back. Daryl licked his dry lips and focused on the arch of her spine and pretty lace bra and panties moulded to her form. Daryl fumbled as he undid his belt and pants, pulling himself out into the warmth of the small room.

His belt rattled noisily in the afternoon quiet and the sound of it sent a thrill through him. It always made that noise when he was here. The mix of sensations was heady, flimsy paper under his fingers, the smell of ink, soap and his own sweat, the rattle of his belt and the sound of skin on skin, it felt illicit, naughty.

He breathed heavily, leaning some of his weight against the small rust marked basin, shockingly cool against the heat of his palm.

He turned the page again and bit back a grunt as three pretty girls pressed close together, heads back in laughter and loose silky pyjamas trimmed in lace riding up and pressing tight against their bodies, the swell of breasts obvious and distracting under their smiling open faces.

The girls Merle messed around with and the ones that hit on him in town weren’t like this, not long and lean and pretty, with big smiles and delicate clothes. They always smelt like cheap liquor, old cigarettes and sweat when they leant close and stumbled into Daryl when he was out, grabby hands and smeared makeup making him uncomfortable.

He picked up his pace and grasped tighter, twisting at the head how he liked it and pulling roughly along the length. He thumbed the head on the upstroke and played with the precome that bubbled up.

When he turned the page again there was a broad shouldered man with a tight six-pack and artful stubble.

Daryl cursed and looked quickly at the door, straining to hear Merle outside. There was silence and Daryl forced himself to relax. He looked back down at the catalogue and moved to thumb back a page but his hand stilled with the thin page between his fingertips.

He glanced back at the door nervously and swallowed thickly as he let his eyes linger on the image.

Black and white, the man looked tanned and big, legs spread framing his large bulge. Daryl averted his gaze and found himself eying the ladder of his abdomen and the wide muscled expanse of his shoulders. There was a dusting of hair on his chest and Daryl stared at that, letting his hand rub slowly up his length again. A coil of something dark curled in his stomach as he breathed deep and let his hand continue.

With a gulp he set a punishing pace, sucking his lips into his mouth and tried not to think of anything, ignoring how his eyes roved the page, at the water that beaded across the man’s skin, his small tight nipples and flex of his spread legs.

He came with a grunt, teeth biting down hard on his lip and he gripped the basin tightly, closing his eyes and panting into the small cramped bathroom.

He opened his eyes and looked at his spunk on his hand. On impulse he lifted it to his mouth and sucked on the edge of his finger where there was a splatter of moisture clinging to his skin.

There was the shock of flavour and the half cooled substance on his tongue, slick and viscus contrasted with the hard callouses of his hand. He pulled his hand away and washed them under the spluttering tap, mind blank.

He righted his clothes and buckled his belt with an efficiency born from practice. He licked his lips as though chasing the salty-sour taste and swallowed thickly, guiltily, as the flavour faded from his mouth.

When he was dressed again and there was no sign of what he had just done, besides the lingering smell of sex and sweat in the hot room, he let his eyes stray back down to the catalogue. He spread it out against the basin again and looked at the man on the page.

The model was gym-fit, impractical and wouldn’t last a day doing any real work, he was glossy and soft looking despite the muscles. Daryl wondered about his own body.

He wasn’t thick and muscular like Merle or their daddy had been, he was scrawny and lean, wide shoulders and strong arms, but not the sculpted muscle of the man on the page. There was the dark shadow of stubble along the man’s square jaw and Daryl looked at himself in the mirror, at his narrow chin and the scruff of hair around his mouth. He wondered if the girls in the catalogue would look at him and like what they saw. They probably went for guys like that, all showy muscles, styled hair and stubble.

He licked his thin lips and watched himself in the mirror over the sink, the swell under his eye that never went away and was aggravated by the heat, his thin mouth, the stupid mark over his lip and narrow eyes.

He’d been called pretty his whole life, men in bars, waitresses in diners, always vaguely mocking when they said it. His own daddy had thrown it at him when he was younger, saying it like it was something dirty and cruel. Merle said it sometimes when he was drunk, he said it like their daddy had, sneering and mean, like it was something bad.

Daryl didn’t see it, didn’t see why they thought he was pretty and why he had to be punished for it. He’d spent his life being as hard and rough as his brother, following his footsteps and copying what he did and dressing like all the other guys he’d grown up around. He didn’t know what set him apart, what made him pretty when his brother was never accused of it.

He looked back down at the man on the page eyes taking in the whole form. Daryl would call him pretty, all polished and nice looking.

There was the screech of the front door opening and slamming closed. Daryl fumbled the catalogue into the pile of junk next to the toilet, old car and motorcycle magazines crammed in with whatever else Merle dumped there. He steadied his breathing one last time and left the bathroom.

Merle was in the kitchen with an open beer in his hands. He always seemed to fill up whatever space he was in and this small room was no different. He rested against the fridge and bared his teeth in a grin when Daryl entered the room.

“Cleaning the pipes little brother?” he said with a laugh and sly eyes. His smile grew even wider when Daryl rolled his eyes and shouldered past him to the fridge and took a beer for himself. “Nothing to be ashamed of _Darlene,_ ” he laughed, “Hell, if you just manned up and stopped being a sissy some slut could do it for you.” Daryl stayed quiet but shot his brother a stink eye as he walked out, pushing out the door and settling down in the lawn chair outside. His brother followed close behind, steps heavy and loud in the small house.

“You going to Joe's tonight?” Merle asked as he leant back heavily in his own lawn chair groaning loudly as he sunk back. Daryl shook his head and picked at the tab on his can.

“Goin’ hunting early tomorrow.”

Daryl didn’t like spending time with Merle’s friends. Some of them weren’t so bad but most of them were too loud and the girls that hung around them were always squawking and squealing, it set his teeth on edge.

Joe was alright, but there was something about him which reminded Daryl strongly of his daddy. That never put him at ease, always made him jumpy and he hated it. Joe seemed to like him well enough, didn’t just treat him like Merles kid brother like most of the others did.   

“Going to get me a big ‘ole deer?”

“It ain’t deer season.” Daryl rolled his eyes, because Merle knew that and was just being a dick. Merle breathed in through his teeth with a whistling noise and kicked his feet out.

“Fuck that. You see a deer you get me a deer.” Daryl rolled his eyes again and said nothing, letting the conversation drop and the pair sunk into silence. “You know what, fuck it. You come to Joe's, I’ll come hunting with you.” Merle announced magnanimously.

Daryl shot him a look but knew there was no use arguing. Once Merle set his mind on something there was no point trying to convince him otherwise.

The silence stretched into the hot summer air, familiar and comforting, nothing but the woods around the house and his brother at his side lounging in the hot noon sun and drinking their beers in silence, just how Daryl preferred it.

Daryl fiddled with his can and glanced at his brother, he seemed to be in a good mood.

“What did the cops want with you?” Daryl eventually asked. He’d been avoiding the question since they’d shown up the day before. Dumbass wog and the dangerous looking one who acted all friendly but saw everything, he made Daryl’s skin itch.

“Its nothing, ain’t none of our business,” Daryl shot Merle an annoyed look and Merle cackled. “Old Joe was just cleaning house from what I hear. Mmmhmm, he’s one mean old bastard.” He vowed. “You do not want to get on the wrong side of that one, I’ll tell you that.” He laughed to himself and shook his head taking a drink from his can and squinting against the sun, topic dropped.

The revelation was hardly news to Daryl, Joe may hide his mean streak behind a veneer of friendliness and genteel manners but it ran a mile wide and Daryl could see it clear as day.

 

Once Merle got an idea in his head it was near impossible to get him to let it go no matter how Daryl tried to wiggle out of it. That’s how Daryl ended up in a threadbare lawn chair near a bonfire in a quiet corner of Joe’s property, waiting for some sign he could excuse himself without insulting anybody and getting home to prepare for his hunt in the morning.

His back was to a car skeleton, feet kicked out in the dirt in front of him as he nursed a can of beer and watched the men and women moving through the flickering light. The roar of voices and laughter mixing in with the whine of mosquitoes and the hum of night insects and the music from the stereo that had been moved to the back porch.

The fire light cast haunting shadows across the faces filling Joe’s backyard. Bonfires were dotted around the large yard in old oil drums or pits, the light glinting off the house, car skeletons and the bikes parked haphazardly around the yard.

Joe was sitting in Daryl’s sight, large frame relaxed into his own lawn chair as flames flickered in front of his face and distorted his features, glinting off his pale hair and throwing his eyes into shadow.

He held himself like a king amongst his subjects, regal in his faded leather jacket and denim, holding court between three similarly dressed men. Daryl watched as some chick landed herself in his lap, handing him a beer and laughed drunkenly at something one of the men said.

Daryl pulled his leather vest tighter around himself despite the heat and sunk heavily into his own lawn chair. Merle had disappeared the moment they’d arrived, chasing a high.

His eyes wandered from face to face and tried to see who wasn’t there. He hadn’t gotten much from Merle about the dead guy, Merle probably never would have mentioned it if it wasn’t for the cops, but he tried to see who wasn’t there. He didn’t know Merle’s friends all that well, never bothered to.

The absence was felt though, a tension ran through the gang, a wariness in their posture and a muted quality to their laugh. It wasn’t sadness, it was something guilty and dark.

Joe didn’t seem to feel it though, he sat comfortably in his make-shift throne, completely at ease as the party went on around him. Daryl saw the other men shooting him the occasional look as though checking to see they were behaving properly and it was being noticed.

It made Daryl uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be here. He suspected Merle had brought him along as backup if something went down though Daryl couldn’t figure out what that might be. If there was one thing Daryl had learnt in his life around men like this it’s that things could kick off in an instant and leave devastation in its wake.

The red head that’s pushing forty and had been making eyes in Daryl’s direction since she arrived looked like she was going to sidle closer. So Daryl levered himself out of his chair, pushing up onto his feet and crosses the yard, purposely not looking in her direction as he makes his way onto the back porch where a tub of ice was keeping the beers cold. He tried to make it look unintentional but he wasn’t sure how well he’d done.

He grabbed a can and let his feet carry him to the other end of the porch, where the fire light was dim and the property tapered out into the woods. He thought about taking a piss but decided with the crack of his can opening that he couldn’t be bothered just yet.

The heavy thud of booted feet on the wooden porch made Daryl cock his ear and listen to the approach. The steps are heavy but measured, sure of themselves and confident in the leisurely pace they took across the boards.

“You know, I’ve never seen you hunt.” Joe’s says conversationally, like he was picking up the thread of a conversation they’d just set aside for a moment. Daryl glanced over at the other man. “We should go sometime.”

Everything about Joe was confident from his steady hands and hard eyes to the skull and roses shirts he wore. Daryl’s daddy used to wear shirts like that, bright leering skulls entwined with brilliant thorned roses. Joe was studied him in the dim light. “You’re a bowman ain’t you? What you draw?”

“150.” He replied automatically. Joe nodded, a pleased smile on his face.

“I’m a gun man myself but I respect a bowman.” He let out a low whistle through his teeth. “A bowman’s a bowman, through and through. It takes a dedicated man to make it an art form. You as good as your brother boasts you are?” Joe cast him a narrow eyed glance and a teasing smile. Daryl jutted his chin and met his gaze.

“Better.” Joe threw his head back and let out a laugh. He laughed like a coyote, wild and untamed.

“You’ll have to show me. I admire a man who takes pride in his work.” They sunk into silence and Joe lit a cigarette, the flare of his lighter casting his face into hard angles. He let out a bloom of smoke and the two of them watched the hazy grey smoke disperse into the warm night.

There was a shout behind them and they turned as one to look at the party. Two men were squaring off in the firelight, a copper haired woman standing to one side shouting in a shrill wavering voice. There was a roar of laughter at what she’d said and one of the men spat on the ground. 

Daryl lost interest and looked back at the edge of the property. He heard the scuffle that broke out, some curses, more laughter and the smack of flesh on flesh before it broke up and the ambient noises of the party resumed.

Joe shifted at his side.  “I lived for a time in Hackett, Arkansas,” Joe said after a while, “A pissy little town, nothing much of anything worth note. But there was a boy who lived in the house next to my old ladies, scrappy as a cat, a mean, vicious thing, I’d see him beating on his mama, hitting his sister something fierce then he’d go play ball like nothing happened.

“So I see this kid one day, sitting on his back porch calm as you like with a possum open up in front of him, body split wide open, innards all over his deck, a blunt little pocket knife in one hand and possum intestines in the other.” Daryl studies the other man, face half in shadows as he stared out into the woods. “So I ask this kid what he’s doing, he looks me in the eye and tells me simple as anything, ‘ _I’m seeing how it works_ ’.” Joe meets Daryl’s gaze taking a moment to blow out a long stream of smoke.

“I stand there and watch this kid, all of eight years old take this creature apart just because he was curious. We lose that as we get older, get dumbed down, told what to do and the weak of us do it and that’s just sad.” He looked back out into the trees and Daryl looks out too, watching the shadows between the trees like he’d learnt to do as Joe continues.  

“You got to be true to what you are, ain’t nothing sadder than an outdoor cat who thinks he’s an indoor cat.” He snorted, spitting on the ground before flicking the butt to the ground beside his boot. He crushes it viciously. “Your brother Merle is a good man, don’t hide nothing about himself, though he sure is protective of you.” He drew out the last bit, making the words long and pointed and Daryl shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable.

“Don’t need to be.” Joe nods at his side.

“No, you’re a man in your own right. But he seems hell bent on playing big brother and protecting you.” Daryl’s eyes narrow and he glances at the other man.

“From what?” Joe’s eyebrows ride up and his eyes go wide as he looks at Daryl.

“Potential maybe?”

“He’d a been a scrappy fucker to get a possum,” Daryl sniffs loudly and scratches at his chin. “Takes more than just curiosity to do that. I’m going for a piss.” He threw over his shoulder as he took a step off the porch into the darkness, striding towards the tree line to do just that.

He could feel the heavy weight of Joe’s eyes on him as he went. When he glanced back after crossing into the trees he watched as Joe turned on his heel and stomped back across the porch to the party.

Daryl spent a few hours drifting in and out of conversations with various people he knew well enough to pass the time with.

Daryl didn’t make a point of it but he was too aware of himself not to acknowledge that he was avoiding Joe. Edging around the outskirts of the party, shifting through conversations and laughing along at a scuffle that broke out.

The two men glowed in the fire light, one wore an open flannel shirt with the arms torn off and he straddled the other man, raising his arms above his head in victory to the cheer of his friends when it was over. The crowd cheered when he levelled another punch to his conquests face before lifting himself up. Daryl watched as he threw his head back and laughed, accepting a beer and a kiss on the cheek from a bottle blond woman.

Harley knocked into him as the crowd around the fight dispersed, throwing him a bared teeth grin and hitting him companionably on his shoulder. Through the firelight and the moving figures he saw the broad figure of Joe enter the house through the back door, Merle barrelling in after him.

Daryl watched the back door for a moment before deciding to follow. He pushed away from the tree he was leant against and wove his way through the mingling people.

The heavy metal screen door was propped open and Daryl entered the house on light feet, his steps even and slow. He didn’t have to enter further than the kitchen before he heard his brother and Joe.

“-I don’t like it.” Merle growled, low and threatening.

“You don’t have to. It’s none of your concern.” Joe said lightly, at odds with the fierce intent of Merle. There were the scuffing of booted feet moving over floor boards and the hush of leather and denim moving as the two men squared off in the other room.

“Why now? When you got shit coming down on you?” Merle’s voice was going sharp, like a knife cutting through the bullshit and straight to the point.

“That has nothing to do with anything.” Joe sounded defensive, getting angry as fast as Merle did, they were alike, two alpha males with lightening tempers and untapped depths of darkness.

It surprised Daryl that they got along as well as they did without butting heads more. He supposed it’s because Merle had no interest in leading a gang, no desire for kingship, he did what he wanted and what was best for him.

Being in a gang made him stronger, leading one made him a target. Joe, on the other hand, was born for leadership and excelled at dominance, revelling in any challenge that came up.

“Well, its damn well gotten cops knocking on my door.”

“And what have you been telling them?” Joe’s voice was cold and sharp. Merle scoffed loudly. “Best keep it that way.” Joe sounded far from pacified but even Daryl could tell it had been dropped.

Merle let out a long, obnoxious whistle and cackled into the night seemingly for no reason, his quicksilver moods on display. Daryl thought he might be doing it just to annoy the other man.

“Ooh boy, it’s always such a damn _mess_ when fools get involved.” He sounded amused, his statement was greeted with a heavy, tense silence.

There was the clomp of heavy boots coming towards the kitchen and Daryl slunk back towards the back door, standing in the doorway in feigned nonchalance.

Merle frowned and narrowed his eyes when he caught sight of Daryl but didn’t say anything. Joe appeared at his shoulder and watched as Merle herded Daryl out with a small pleased twist to his lips and steady eyes.

“Let’s get out of here baby brother, got to be perky in the morning.”  

 

Merle was in a foul mood from the moment they got into the car the next morning. The stillness of pre-dawn hung heavy in the tense space of the car. Merle's teeth were clenched whenever he wasn’t swearing heavily at every little thing that annoyed him.

The woods on the far side of King's County was a dense wooded area Daryl had been wanting to work through for a while now.

Merle seemed to calm down once they made it into the thick of it, falling into step with Daryl, his gun relaxed in his hands as they made their way carefully through the under bush.

There was a comfort to hunting with his brother. It was something they’d shared for most of their life whenever Merle was around. Merle was the one to teach Daryl his first steps in tracking and hunting and Daryl remembered his gruff, rough brother walking him through the steps one at a time with a patience he had never displayed before or since. Daryl had enjoyed the attention, for once almost kind, focused solely on him.

The two of them sunk back into a facsimile of that time. Despite Daryl’s dedication to hunting and his years spent honing his skills away from his brother he always followed Merles lead when they went out together. He pushed and taunted sometimes but he liked to settle back and let Merle take the lead.

They got four rabbits and a squirrel before noon. The sun cast shadows onto the ground, splashes of warm yellow and green amongst the trees and ground while the air grew thick and humid under the canopy.

The air was wet and heavy in his lungs. It settled along his skin and made his clothes and hair cling to him in a familiar way. Heat’s only unbearable if you think about it. 

They paused for a break. Daryl sat himself down on a rock, hands settling on his bow over his lap to check his bolts. He watched with half an eye as his brother stood against a tree, kicking at the bark with the toe of his boot, loosening the bark with an absent minded focus. Daryl kept his eyes on the bolt in his hand when he broke the quiet, voice coming out low amongst the wood noises.

“What were you and Joe arguing about last night?” Merle turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowed mouth twisted.

“What’d he say to you?” Daryl looked up as Merle leant back against the tree chin up and pale eyes focused on Daryl.

“When?”

“When you were all cozy on the porch.” He spat into the trees but kept his eyes on Daryl. Daryl shrugged.

“Nothing really.”

“He didn’t,” Merle’s eyes narrowed and he looked pained as he seemingly searched for words. “Offer you anything?” Daryl’s eyebrows rode up.

“Like what?” his brother pushed away from the tree, twisting his head to each side to crack his neck.

“Tom Thumbs done and got his thumb in a few too many pies if you ask me. Eyes bigger than his stomach.” Daryl watched his brother closely, he was angry and hiding it behind his usual mask of flippancy. Merle shook his head at him dismissively, turning away to pick up the rabbits. “Don’t matter. You best stay away from him baby brother, the whole lot of them.” Daryl’s eyes narrowed and he set his bolt down.

“Why?”

“Because I damn told you to!” Daryl jutted his chin forward, eyes narrowed, feeling petulant and annoyed.

“What, you trying to be my daddy now?” he rose to his feet, bolt in one hand, bow in the other.

“I ain’t nothing like that bastard.” Merle stretched his jaw distractedly. “Damn it Daryl, you stay away from Joe, at least for the time being.” Merle stomped off into the woods, throwing the rabbits over his shoulder as he walked. “I gotta get back.”

“What? Merle!” he watched the retreating figure of his brother weave his way through the trees. He didn’t follow, no point pissing him off even more. 

 

He worked his way deep into the woods, moving faster now that he was on his own. He let his attention narrow to the tracks and his awareness expand. He tracked a buck, herded it back towards town, slow enough not to cause it alarm but enough to get it where he wanted it to go.

Daryl liked hunting alone, liked the chance to try and get lost in the woods, to be completely isolated from civilisation and live entirely off his wits. He sometimes pretended that the rest of the world stopped existing; some big catastrophe that killed off every other person on the planet and left him alone to live like a wild man, to do what he did best.

There was always something that broke the illusion though, something that shattered the dream for him.

He edged around a steep hillside, following the path of the buck. It was a big one, all muscle and speed, but it wasn’t panicking. Daryl planned for it not to. A hunt didn’t require a chase.

There was a crack in the distance and a holler. Everything after that seemed to happen at once. The buck panicked, backtracking away from the source of the noise. There was more noise from ahead and the buck tumbled through the bush right at Daryl, he didn’t have a chance to get out of the way and the pair of them tumbled back over the high, steep slope of the hillside. 

Daryl growled when he came to a stop at the bottom. The buck sorted itself out before Daryl and sped off into the woods on the other side of the creek where he now found himself in. He watched it go and cursed all amateurs as he stood up.

His knee complained but held him. His head throbbed in time with his pulse and he felt the wet sticky feeling of blood down his face. It didn’t feel too bad and he didn’t lose consciousness so he gave it a cursory swipe to clear the blood.

With a sigh he looked up and resigned himself to making it back home, there was no point hanging round with that lot of pussies crashing around.

He’d cursed a blue streak when he made it back to the roadside they’d left the car and he realised Merle had taken it with him. He should have expected that but it just served to pissed him off even more. He’d wanted a quiet day in the woods not this shit show.

 

Daryl was an hour into his trek home when a car pulled up beside him. He ambled to a stop casually, scuffing his feet against the ground and resettling his hold on the crossbow over his shoulder in preparation.

His leg hurt and so did his head. It felt like his brain was baking in the mid-afternoon sunshine, he was not in the mood to deal with anyone’s bullshit.

The driver’s side door opened and a tall man got out. When he turned around Daryl rolled his eyes and dropped his hold on the crossbow strap when he recognised the cop from his front yard not three days ago.  

“Are you okay?” The man’s voice was light but gruff. He’d noticed it back at his house when he and his dick partner came to see Merle, but at the time he’d been too tense to really do anything but a cursory assessment of the threat to him and his brother. The man frowned and looked suddenly concerned, taking a cursory step forward and Daryl realised he’d been asked something.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re okay. You look like the walking dead.” Daryl huffed and raised his hand in an aborted move to touch where his head hurt. It had stopped bleeding and he could feel the blood drying, tacky against his face, and running down his neck.

“’m fine.” The cop stared at him in disbelief and Daryl wondered how bad he looked. “It’s worse than it looks.” He attempted.

“You can barely walk.”

“I can walk fine.” The cop raised his hands, placating and Daryl could see him biting back a smile.

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you keep walking. Can I give you a lift to the hospital or something?”

Daryl scoffed.“I don’t need no hospital.”

“Then to your house. It’s a half hour drive from here, don’t know how long it’ll take to walk it.” Daryl glared down the road and chewed absently on his thumb nail. His leg hurt, it was hot as hell and lord knows he was tired. He looked back at the cop. Hair tousled, shoulders relaxed and hands at his side, away from his side arm.

“Alright.”  Daryl pulled his crossbow over his head and moved towards the car. The cop looked surprised but chose not to question it, just moved to the driver’s side and sunk into his seat.

The car pulled away with hardly a noise. Daryl sat uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat, his leg complained and he stretched it out as best he could in the small car with his crossbow in his lap taking up more room than he felt it should.

The cop looked relaxed behind the wheel; one hand resting on the wheel, the other on his thigh. Daryl found his eyes lingering on the large hand on his thigh. His wedding ring shone bright silver in the afternoon light and his veins and bones stood out prominently and rippled under his tanned skin. It was a strong looking hand, with callouses different to Daryl’s own.

“Why you doing this anyway?” Daryl asked after a few moments travelling in silence. The cop shrugged.

“Just being a Good Samaritan?”

“You’re a cop, you can’t be a Good Samaritan.”

“I may be in my uniform but I’m off duty.” The cop’s lips quirked up and Daryl got the feeling he thought he was being funny. “My names Rick Grimes by the way.” Daryl grunted in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything.

Daryl sunk back into his seat and stared out the window, trying to ignore the man at his side. He raised a hand cautiously to his head, fingers gentle as he touched the swollen, sore skin. He hissed as he dug a small bit of rock out of the mess of blood and hair at the side of his head. Rick shot him a concerned look.

“If you won’t go to a hospital at least come to my house and get cleaned up. It’s closer than your place and you need to patch that up.” Daryl scowled over at him but the effect was ruined when the car jerked over a pot hole and he hissed, his hand raising instinctively to protect his head. “Please, my home is close and we need to look at that.” His voice was steady and firm, his bright blue eyes calm and concerned. Daryl got the feeling he wasn’t a man to argue with.

With a sigh Daryl leant his head against the headrest and nodded, turning his attention to the scenery out the window and did his best to ignore the other man. Even though his presence was like a weight in the small interior, he took up space without making it seem claustrophobic. His movements, even while driving, were careful and precise and Daryl’s felt hyper-sensitized to his every move.

 

The house Rick Grimes led him into was almost aggressively neat and Daryl regretted agreeing to this instantly. He was lead through a series of cream coloured rooms, the walls lined with framed pictures and there was an honest-to-God vase of flowers near the wide kitchen doorway. Daryl clutched at the strap of his crossbow like a security blanket and tried not to touch anything.

Rick led him down a hallway and seemed not to notice the spaces he passed through. Daryl kept his head down and followed, shouldering his way past him when they came to a bathroom with white tiles and an opaque shower curtain. He looked dumbly around the room as Rick rummaged through the cabinet against the wall.

Daryl crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to compare this room with the bathroom he had back home: small and cramped with rust stained drains and hair and soap scum coating the walls of the shower with the rickety door that never closed properly.

This room smelt funny, like flowery soap and baby powder. It tickled at Daryl’s nose and he was thankful when Rick placed a heavy first aid kit on the counter, tossing a couple of small towels into the sink. He dampened one and moved as though to touch Daryl’s face.

Daryl reared back like an animal at the unexpected move, raising his hands to defend himself. Rick stopped immediately and took a step back.

“Sorry, but you need to wash your face.”

“I can do it.” Rick nodded and tossed the small towel back into the basin, suddenly looking out of place in the bathroom.

“You can have a shower if you want.” He nodded to the shower against the wall and Daryl’s eyes followed the gesture. He chewed on his lip absently as he thought that over. It’d be nice to wash the sweat, dirt and blood off him. He'd bet the shower is real nice too, it’s bigger than the one back home. He probably wouldn’t even knock his elbows like he always did in his. He glanced back at Rick and fingered the hem of his torn and bloody vest.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.” Daryl nodded his head, convincing himself as he did. He didn’t want to stay here longer than he had to and he didn’t like the thought of being naked and defenceless in a cop’s house. “Okay, well I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.” Daryl nodded again and watched as the cop retreated from the room, closing the door behind himself.

Daryl cocked his head and listened as footsteps faded down the hall.

Forcing himself to quit staring, Daryl made his way to the basin. He lifted the damp towel and set to work cleaning himself up. He dressed the cut on his head with ointment and taped some bandage over it before hesitating, he cast a quick look at the door, straining to hear any sign of the cop outside.

He released a breath and lowered his hands to his belt, gritting his teeth as he peeled down the denim. He sucking at his teeth as the rough fabric stuck and rubbed against the raw skin of his knee and down his shins revealing the bloody grazes smattered down his legs.

Stumbling backwards and falling down onto the toilet he set to work, focusing on getting all the dirt and blood out of the wounds instead of how weird it is to be sitting in his boxers in a strangers house.

He was quick with his work and when he finally pulled his pants back up he washed his hands, drying them off against his pants, he eyed the room around him.

With one quick look towards the door he shrugged to himself and eased open one of the drawers under the basin. It was full of hairbrushes, gel, a couple of cans, and pins. Daryl assumed Rick Grimes had a wife.

The next drawer under that had a bunch of brightly coloured packets. Daryl felt himself blush when he realised they were Tampax and other girly things he didn’t want to look at. He closed the drawer quickly and felt his face go hot as he pulled his hands away from the drawer knob quickly.

The drawer on the other side of the cabinet had a bunch of makeup in it, there was a powdery smell and a waft of flowers when he opened it. Daryl picked up a shiny gold lipstick and popped the cap before twisting the bottom to reveal the lipstick, like he remembered doing with his mum’s when he was a little kid.

The stick was a weird pinkish red and Daryl squinted at it and tried to think what kind of girl would wear it, what kind of woman Rick Grimes was attracted to. He closed it and tossed it back in the drawer, losing interest.

The final drawer was obviously Ricks, there was a razor and a can of shaving cream besides a comb and a small glass bottle. Daryl picked it up, the label said 'cologne'and with a glance at the door Daryl unscrewed the lid and sniffed at it. It was woodsy, not a very strong smell but nice. It seemed warm, though Daryl didn’t know how a smell could be warm. He supposed the smell suited the man it belonged to, something in the subtlety and the hidden spice which seemed fitting to the cop with sharp eyes and a low growling voice.

He sniffed again before screwing the lid back on. He held the small bottle in his hand, weighing it absently. He glanced back in the drawer and then toward the door. He could take it, he thought to himself, just slip it into one of his pockets and Rick wouldn’t even notice until Daryl was already gone. He brought his hand up to his mouth and chewed absently at his cuticle and contemplated the bottle in his hand.

Merle's voice rose in his head, _Who you trying to impress little brother?_ Merle wore cologne sometimes, a sharp smelling musk that made Daryl’s nose itch if he sniffed it but Daryl had never worn the stuff, not really seeing the point when he was just going to sweat it off in the woods. He put the bottle back into the drawer and closed it with a thud.

Turning to the door he picked up his crossbow and left the bathroom following the muffled noises down the hall. He found Rick in what was obviously his bedroom, unbuckling his gun belt and placing it and his badge onto a side table under the window. He had an easy familiarity with his gun, handling it with a confidence Daryl could appreciate.

Rick moved on to his shirt and Daryl looked around the room. There was a floral bedcover on the large bed, the furniture was worn but nice looking. By the door there was a chest of drawers with a couple of stray socks and some framed pictures. One was of a pretty brunette woman in a white dress. She was smiling at the camera, carefully angled against a backdrop of green foliage.

“This your wife?” Rick turned with a start and Daryl wondered if he realised his hand had moved automatically to the gun on the table in front of him.

That was an interesting instinct, it said a lot about the man in front of him who seemed so mild mannered, who spoke lowly and managed to make you forget there was a whiskey rumble to his words and a stillness to his body which revealed the predator within. Daryl bet that most people would never suspect the thin, clean cut looking cop in front of them of being a predator, but Daryl had hunted his whole life, spent his time around dangerous men and he saw all too clearly that this man was dangerous. He wondered if Rick even knew.

“Yeah, Lori. That’s my son Carl next to her.” Daryl glanced briefly at the smaller frame next to the picture of Lori Grimes. Carl was a chubby cheeked brunette with his dads light eyes and his mum’s soft features.

He looked back at Rick who had returned to stripping himself of his uniform. Daryl watched as he unbuttoned the uniform shirt with quick efficient fingers, revealing a white undershirt. Daryl looked away when the open shirt cascaded down his arms with a casual roll of his shoulders. He chewed at his bottom lip and studied the framed picture of a flower on the wall. He couldn’t see anything of Rick in this room, though he didn’t know the man. The soft colours and feminine details spoke strongly of the wife, not of the husband.

“You hungry? I was going to make a sandwich.”

Daryl jerked at the question and returned his attention to the other man. Rick was dressed in jeans and had replaced his white undershirt with a more fitted button down in a dark blue and he was in the process of rolling up the sleeves over strong tanned forearms.

Daryl shrugged one shoulder which Rick took as agreement. He moved past him in the doorway and led the way back down the hallway. Daryl trailed along behind, feeling lost and out of place.

He was waved into a seat at the kitchen counter and he sat awkwardly on the edge of the tall, hard stool with his crossbow at his feet and his elbows on the counter. He watched as Rick moved around the kitchen with confidence, shifting from one end to the other with familiarity as he amassed a selection of toppings.

Daryl watched curiously. The kitchen he shared with Merle was barely big enough for two grown men to stand in at once. Daryl could reach every cupboard without taking more than two steps and his idea of a sandwich was slapping a piece of cold meat from the fridge between two slices of bread and eating standing in the kitchen or one handed as he did something else.

Rick smiled absently at him as he placed a plate down in front of him with a closed lip quirk of his mouth, just big enough for the crow’s feet around his eyes to crinkle. Daryl ducked his head and bit his lip so as not to return it.

The sandwich was topped in soft white bread, lettuce, tomato and cheese peaked out along with the ham and mayonnaise Daryl saw him put on it.

He was strangely distracted to the way Rick had cut it neatly in half from corner to corner. Daryl had a vague memory of his mum having done that for him when he was a little kid.

Rick didn’t seem to notice his distraction, he was chewing thoughtfully on his own sandwich and staring at a far wall, a frown creasing his forehead and a tightness around his eyes.

The surprisingly comfortable silence between them was broken by a commotion at the front door. Daryl tensed, foot hooking onto his crossbow in preparation. He looked at Rick who seemed poised but unsurprised as he leant against the counter looking towards the door.

Daryl shifted his attention to the approaching footsteps and watched, curiously detached as the pretty brunette from the picture entered the kitchen alongside a slightly older version of the boy in the other photograph. The kid was chatting animatedly to his mum who was nodding along absently.

Daryl knew the moment she spotted him in her kitchen. Torn clothes, worn flannel and denim, his hair sticking up and clinging to his face from where he’s ran the wet towel through it. He looked out of place in this neat, clean house. Sitting opposite the cop, he was bruised and dirty looking in her neat kitchen.

She halted when she saw him, her eyes flicking uncertainly between him and Rick, her lips pursed tight and her eyebrows rose.

Rick didn’t seem to notice how unhappy she was or perhaps he was just better at hiding his thoughts. He remained leant against the counter, smiling widely when his kid gave an excited shout of “Dad!”

“Rick?” her voice was sharp and Rick turned his eyes to her, though otherwise didn’t react.

Daryl slumped low and tried to make himself look small and non-threatening, though he knew it was a lost cause. It had been his whole life, ever since he was a little boy and the other kids in the playground whispered _Dixon_ behind their hands.

“Lori, this is Daryl.” Carl seemed to finally notice the extra person in the kitchen and eyed Daryl curiously. Daryl scratched uncomfortably at his chin and avoided looking at the two new arrivals. He could feel Carl’s scrutiny and hear the icy things Lori was attempting to project at Rick. Daryl chewed numbly at the last bite of his sandwich, tasting nothing.

“You going to give me a ride or am I walking?” Daryl eventually growled into the uncomfortable kitchen effectively breaking the silent staring contest between cop and wife. Rick glanced at him and Daryl would swear he looked amused. One quick glance at Lori showed she wasn’t.

Rick nodded pushing away from the counter, jerking his head for Daryl to follow. He stooped to pick up his crossbow, not missing how the two new arrivals both widened their eyes as the weapon, one in interest and the other in fear. Daryl gritted his teeth and slung the strap across his chest.

Rick paused next to his wife and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She remained unresponsive though Rick gave no sign at having noticed the chilly air about her. He mussed his son’s hair, smiling as his son squirmed away from him laughing. It was such a fatherly gesture, like something daddy’s did in TV shows and Daryl watched, strangely fascinated by the gesture.

“I’ll be back in a little while, I promised Daryl a ride.” Rick tossed over his shoulder as the pair left the kitchen and moved through the house.

Rick seemed tense in the driver’s seat. His fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel and there was a hard set to his jaw as he stared fixedly out the windshield.  

“Thanks for-” Daryl gestured at his face to finish his sentence feeling uncomfortable. Rick glanced at him, offering him a quick but honest smile. He nodded.

“It’s no problem. You sure you’re okay?” there was honest concern in that question. Daryl rolled his eyes. Some grazes and a twisted knee wasn’t anything serious.

“Course.”

The pair sunk into silence as the car moved through the streets of King’s County. Out of the corner of his eye Daryl saw Rick scratch at his chin and run his fingers through his hair as he sighed, eyes still focused ahead.

“Can I ask you something?” Daryl eyed him warily.

“Depends.”

“My wife…” The cop trailed off before shaking his head to himself. Daryl watched as he rubbed again at the shadow of stubble beginning to show. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Daryl wondered idly what he was going to say. Despite her cold attitude they looked like any family off the TV, unreal to Daryl.

The Dixons were hardly a model family, but the ones around them when they grew up weren’t much better. Even when his mum was still alive it was far from picturesque and in comparison the Grimes family looked perfect.

He wondered about the coldness of the wife though. Rick was warm and seemingly kind, quick to smile, even to someone like Daryl. It seemed like he had a core of cold, hard steel, but Daryl doubted he’d ever shown that to his wife. She didn’t act like someone who knew abuse. She was cold, not wary.

Daryl shook his head to himself. Why was he even thinking about this shit? It was none of his business if the cop was having marital problems - that was his own damn fault.

The image did linger in his mind though: Lori’s cold stillness as Rick leant in to kiss her cheek. It wasn’t some spat they’d had, it looked like it ran deeper than that.

He shot a look at the man beside him. He didn’t think many people remained unaffected by the man, he was magnetic and friendly seeming with laugh lines around his eyes and a nice smile which he offered freely.

He’d insisted on helping a man like Daryl, and he knew exactly who he was when he did it. And, so far, hadn’t asked for anything in return and hadn’t asked him once about his brother or Joe and his boys. He bet he was popular and had lots of friends in houses as nice as his, with pretty wives too.

The car pulled up to the house and Daryl chanced a glance at the man beside him. He was looking at the house through the windshield and Daryl followed his gaze. He knew how he saw it; the run down home of a redneck.

Merle's confederate flag was faded and fayed in the front window. The front lawn was mostly bare dirt and butted against the edge of the woods. It looked tired and worn, particularly in memory of the cops own neat and orderly house in the suburbs.

Rick looked away from the house and smiled at Daryl who gave a firm nod of thanks and pulled himself out of the car and walked away, slamming the door behind him without looking back.

He heard the crunch of wheels as the car pulled away and Daryl continued towards the house.

Entering the dim house he set his crossbow beside the front door. Merle was standing by the window in the living room that looked out onto the front yard. Daryl paused in the hall when his brother turned to look at him, a can of beer in his hand.

“What were you doing with the cop?”

“He gave me a ride home. Saw me walking.”  Merle eyed him for a moment, sharp gaze narrowed as he studied him before he gave him a tense nod and moved away from the window sinking down onto the couch. Daryl left him to it and went to his own room, the small cramped space taken up mostly by the unmade bed.

He sunk down onto the mattress and ran his fingers gently over the edge of the bandage on his head. His eyes traced the cracks and water stains which decorated his ceiling as he purposely thought of nothing, pulling his mind back every time it drifted to the calm, quiet man who had entered his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't get a chance to get this one Beta'd so apologies for any mistakes! Let me know what you think :)

The steam dissipated from the mirror and revealed Rick’s own face. He stood wrapped in a towel as he watched his reflection became clearer.

He rubbed a hand over the scruff of stubble across his chin as he pulled out his shaving cream and set it on the counter beside him. The stubble was thicker than he’d let it get for a long time, he hadn’t had the time to shave for the last two mornings and it was now a dark shadow across his face. Making his features look more angular, sharper and more mature.

Coupled with his hair which was beginning to curl at the edges Rick looked different and he liked that difference. It was something new, fresh and wholly his own.

The difference changed his face more than he thought it would, he didn’t think the change was all that dramatic but it made a hell of a difference to his analytical eye.

He remembered as a kid watching the old western on his families black and white and how those men had been for a time the embodiment of manliness to him, strong and wild, even the lawmen were tougher than nails hardened by the elements and sharpened by experience as they fought for justice, to protect people from the force of black hats which wanted to ruin them.

They’d usually been clean shaven but Rick had been looking at his shaved face for years now and he’d never felt as tough as he did looking at the dark shadow of a short beard.

He felt ridiculous preening in front of the mirror like this but the more he thought about it the more it seemed harmless to grow it out a little, see what happened.

With a nod to himself he put his shaving equipment away and left the bathroom, heading straight to the bedroom to change into his uniform.

Lori levelled him with a disapproving look when he entered the kitchen and Rick tried to ignore the thrill of rebellious pleasure he got from her narrow eyed look of displeasure.

He wasn’t doing it to spite her, this had nothing to do with her. It was his face and he could do what he wanted with it.

It’s not like him doing what he usually did was making her happy and by the look of it, changing things up wasn’t doing any better.   

“You have an appointment with Joanne next Friday.”

Rick grit his teeth. Joanne was Lori’s hairdresser and the main reason Rick has let his hair grow out as long as it was. She had the eyes of a crazy woman, a shrill voice and a way of humming disapprovingly whenever Rick tried to say anything, no matter what it was.

He got the strong feeling she didn’t like him and it always made him tense wondering what Lori has said for her to come to that conclusion about him.

He nodded as he ran his fingers through Carl’s hair to watch him roll his eyes and duck out of reach.

Lori slid a plate onto the table as Rick sat down.

“You want a ride to school?” he asked Carl through a mouthful.

"In the cruiser? Cool!” Rick felt a moment of thanks that the cruiser was still considered cool by his kid. He knew in a little while anything to do with his dad or his job would lose its shine.

Rick wasn't looking forward to Carl's teen years. Memories of the things he’d gotten up to with Shane was enough to make his skin crawl with dread.

Carl bounded away from the table and Rick listened to him running down the hall and into his room to finish getting ready and grab his bag.

Lori was sitting at the other end of the table, her hands clasped around a coffee cup which she was inspecting carefully. Her long fingers ran along the smooth porcelain and her thumb traced the black on white pattern every now and again.

"Much on today?" Rick ventured. Lori looked up surprised but gave him a small smile and one thin shoulder rose in a shrug.

"Some shopping, I promised Angie I'd help her out with a few things for the baby." Rick smiled at his wife.

Angie and Paul had been trying for a kid for as long as Rick had known them. He couldn't help remembering how happy he and Lori had been when Lori had been pregnant with Carl, a difficult pregnancy but they'd worked through it together.

He'd loved her so much during those hard months and the tiring ones after he thought he might burst with it. Shane had ribbed him about the goofy smile he couldn't get off his face, no matter how many sleepless nights he suffered through.

Lori had only ever wanted to be a mother and had taken on the role of stay-at-home mum with a vengeance.

Rick could admire how busy she kept, she had joined groups and societies and had spent what seemed like years decorating the rooms of their house until she deemed them perfect. All while doting on her son and protecting him like a lioness.  

Carl bounded into the room, school bag over one shoulder.

Rick nodded to him, swallowing the last of his own cup of coffee and dropped his plate in the kitchen sink.

As he passed Lori on the way out he pressed a fond kiss to her forehead and smiled when she leant into him.

 

Carl had loved the cruiser since he was a little kid and Rick had vague hopes which he never let fully form, that Carl might want to be like him when he grew up.

Being a cop wasn't the most lucrative or easy job out there, but it was good, honest work and Rick was proud of it. His own dad had been an accountant and had spent his life in a small cubical before dying at sixty from a heart attack.

Carl settled into the worn leather of the passenger seat and watched the familiar streets pass through the window and Rick settled into the comfortable silence.

"Do you and mum still love each other?" Rick looked at his son who kept his gaze fixed out the window, his body slumped in an imitation of indifference.

"Of course we do." Carl shot him a sullen look and Rick could see so clearly the teenager he was going to become soon

"I'm not a little kid dad." Rick cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the road. He knew they had to have this conversation, but knowing didn’t make it any easier.

 "I do still love your mother. We're going through a rough patch at the moment but I do still love her. We'll get through this." he cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry we've worried you,"

Carl shrugged one bony shoulder and didn't look at him. Rick felt his heart lurch in his chest at how like his mother Carl was sometimes.

"Wasn’t worried." Rick bit back a smile and the rest of the drive passed in companionable silence.

At the school Carl was out of the car and heading towards his friend Joey with a wave of his hand and a cheerful goodbye, discussion forgotten.

Rick watched as the pair huddled close together as they entered the school. Their hands waving as they spoke excitedly together.

 

Shane was already at his desk when Rick arrived at the station. He had his feet up on the corner of his desk as he picked at the large pastry in his hands, a mug of coffee sat by his side and he talked with Lenny Campbell between mouthfuls.

Lenny raised his cup in a greeting to Rick when he sat down.

"Was just talking about this homicide you've got yourselves." Shane let out a derisive snort around his mouthful of pastry.

"’The Case of Damn Dead Ends’. I swear brother, every person who ever knew this guy knows nothing'." Lenny's eyebrows rose behind his coffee cup and Rick got up to get a coffee of his own from the break room.

Tracy from reception smiled brightly at him and poured him a cup before doctoring her own.

"Morning Rick.” She chirped brightly, Rick smiled warmly at her.

Shane always teased him about her crush on him, has since the day she joined the squad, Rick chose to pretend he didn't notice it. "How's the case going? We've already had Mrs Wilson call in to say her neighbour did it." Rick let out a laugh and shook his head.

"You're a saint for not putting that through to me." She smiled brightly as he turned back to the squad room and wove his wave through the tables and back to his desk.

Lenny was still there, nodding along to Shane as he played absently with his mug.

"I tell you man, that Dixon's a right piece of work. I looked back over his file and no one'd be surprised if he flipped and went apeshit on some guy’s ass.” Lenny nodded. "There ain’t a good one among that lot. Nah, Kobers alright." Shane finished his pastry and dropped his feet back onto the ground, brushing crumbs off his front and swung his chair properly into place.

Rick sat and faced his partner as Lenny wandered back to his own desk after saying goodbye. "Figure we finish up the Peterson situation before doing anything more on Rodrigues." Rick nodded and shuffled through the files on his desk.

 

The pair of them worked through the backlog of paperwork that had accumulated on their desks for most of the day. By the time lunch rolled around they'd made a sizable dent in their work and Rick pulled the Rodrigues file in front of him.

He shifted through their collection of notes and the medical reports. It hadn't changed much in the few days they’d had it and their timeline for the evening was sketchy at best.

With a stifled sigh he started organising the statements from most obviously lying to less sure.

They spent a few hours making phone calls and scraping together leads which amounted to not much more than the sketchy outline of events they already had before heading out on patrol with heavier hearts.

The easy routine of patrol was a bit of a relief from the pointless enquiries of the morning. It didn't feel like they were getting anywhere with Rodrigues and too many of their questions remained unanswered.

Rick doubted they’d get anywhere until someone slipped up but they had to keep looking as long as it was an active investigation.

 

The day was hot, the heavy stifling heat that weighted everything down. It clung in the crevices of Rick’s body and made people short tempered and irritable. The weak A/C in the cruiser didn’t seem to provide much of a relief from the merciless sun which seemed to fill the whole sky.

Rick grew weary watching the haze of heat shimmer above the road and the bright golden glare which stun his eyes even through his sunglasses.

The cold drinks they brought barely made an impression and he thought hazily that this was what it was like to drown, there couldn’t be enough oxygen to sustain them both in this small car.

He couldn’t believe anyone had the energy to do anything at all, let alone break the law. Shane let out a snort when he voiced this thought into the stifling air of the cruiser.

“Brother, crime is the first instinct for some, it seems like the hard work is following the law.”

“I think people are better than that.”

“You always were a boy scout.” Shanes head was leant back against the headrest, his eyes closed and the top few buttons of his uniform shirt undone.

The tanned expanse of his throat glistened in the bright afternoon sun and Rick felt pale and blotchy beside him.

There was something to heat like this, the build that doesn’t seem to end, heaping impossibly higher until it was almost impossible to think it could get any worst.

It gave the world a surreal feeling, as though the real world lost focus around the edges and the details became hazy and indistinct.

The heat was boiling his damn brain.

 

Heat stroke and dehydration were those things everyone knew about and everyone had experienced.

Out here in Georgia these things were more common in summer than the flu was at its worst. That didn’t mean people didn’t dance around the edges of them, push themselves through and pretend they weren’t bothered by the heat.

Rick did it himself, somehow believing he was super human, that a life time of living it excused him somehow from the effects.

He crouched down besides the boy sitting on the curb and offered him the water bottle Shane handed him. The kid didn’t look convinced but took the bottle and unscrewed the lid.

Shane was on the radio getting the kids parents’ details. They normally wouldn’t do this kind of thing but Rick couldn’t just leave the kid out here like this.

The kid was sipping at the water with an expression somewhere between distaste and avarice. Rick let his mind wander as they waited for his parents to arrive.

There was the rumble of loud motors and after a delay the glistening black forms of two motorcycles came around the corner and down the road towards them.

Rick rose to stand by Shane’s side as they watched the advancing bikes.

They didn’t slow, at least not of any note, but they had plenty of time to catch the eye of one of the drivers who grinned slow and mean, baring his teeth and his expression mocking.

One laughed and flipping the bird at them. The white on black insignia of the claimers sat proudly on the main body of each bike.

They were done and around the corner before Rick could even think to do anything.

They hadn’t planned it, hadn’t been following them or anything incriminating like that but the message was clear enough, they knew exactly who Rick and Shane were, knew them on sight and they were laughing at them.

Shane contained himself until the kid was packed into his daddy’s car and they’d driven off.

“Those douchbags.” He hissed into the heat, resting his forearms on the top of the car to talk to Rick. “They know we can’t do nothing to them until one of them cracks. And Rodrigues shows exactly what the fuck will happen if they start talking.” He beat his fists down hard on the roof of the car and swore angrily, dark eyes roving the street as though looking for something to fight. “Goddamnit.”

Rick didn’t say anything, just grit his teeth in annoyed agreement and settled into the hot worn seat and waited for Shane to join him.

 

The drive back to the station was tense, both of them felt agitated and short tempered from the heat and the unproductive day.

At the lockers Shane huffed and grunted irritably as he changed and when Rick offered to get a couple of drinks he waved it off and claimed to have a date though he hadn’t mentioned anyone in particular recently.

Shane turned on his heel and prowled out of the change rooms before Rick could ask him about her and Rick breathed deeply and tried to cool his blood.

He gave up on changing and figured he’d do it at home.

 

He was still strung out and tense with inexplicable frustration when he sunk into the driver’s seat and set his hands on the wheel looking out into the half empty lot.

He grit his teeth and considered getting a drink and cooling off at a bar before going home, Lori didn’t deserve the brunt of Rick’s bad mood and he needed to take a moment to cool off.

Her disapproval had been showing itself more regularly and he didn’t want to provoke it just because he’d had a frustrating day.

Automatically, he started heading to the bar they always went to, popular amongst the boys at the sheriff’s department and had been his and Shane’s preferred hangout since they were rookies.

He turned the car off its course and nodded to the empty car as he considered other places to go. His mood lightened as he thought about the chance to sit anonymously in silence like he was never allowed when he was out with others.

The Porter was an old, rundown bar a few streets over from the station that sat innocuously between a nail salon and an empty shop. It didn’t draw much attention from the local police, catering primarily to older men and people just looking for a quiet, anonymous drink.

Decision made he wove through the streets and headed there. Ignoring how strange he felt to be half in his uniform and heading to a bar on his own.

It had been a long time since he hadn’t had Shane at his side with an easy smile and a thirst greater than Ricks.

 

When Rick pushed through the door and entered the dimly lit bar he noticed Daryl, already with a drink and settled into the far corner of the room,

It was an old place, frequented by regulars who weren’t inclined to go somewhere with more choice in beers or fancy liquors.

The décor hadn’t changed since its opening by the look of it and everything was worn and soft looking from age, including the men that were dotted around the place.

Daryl looked a bit out of place in his worn flannel, denim, bare biceps and wary eyes glaring out from under mused bangs.

Some of the other patrons were shooting the younger man glances but for the most part he was ignored.

Rick couldn’t help but notice that the bartender greeted him a particularly warmly and shot frequent looks into the corner Daryl inhabited.

Rick leant against the bar and surveyed the room as the barman got his drink. Daryl was in the furthest corner, back against the wall and shrouded in shadows. Far from the single A/C unit which was blowing tiredly against the heat which had settled in over the day.

There was a man at the far corner muttering angrily into his glass and looked as though he’d slept in his clothes for more than one night. A few other people were dotted around, a couple drinking at a booth to the side and a few men drinking in companionable silence at the counter.

Rick nodded his thanks when his beer arrived and pushed off from the bar.

He moving across the room before he can think too much about what he was doing. Daryl watched him approach, body coiled tight and eyes sharp even as he made a point of taking a leisurely swallow from his own beer.  

“Officer.” He intoned, vaguely mocking. Rick quirked a smile and slid into the booth opposite him.

“How’s the head?” Rick asked, as though that was reason and excuse enough for invading the man’s privacy.

Daryl looked honestly confused for a moment before his eyes widened a fraction in understanding and he let out a breath of air in a huff and rolled his eyes.

“ ‘s fine. It was nothing.” Rick bit back his protestations and nodded curtly.

Daryl wasn’t a kid, he could take care of himself and judging by his discomfort the other day he wasn’t used to other people trying to do it for him.

Rick tried to forget how Daryl had looked walking along the road, bloody and staggering down the asphalt looking like some escapee from a horror movie.

Ricks mind had already been sharpening into radio call’s he’ll have to make, who was on shift, the protocols for a car crash or assault, which was the nearest hospital and the lasting effects of violence on the victims he’d seen.

He hadn’t recognised Daryl until he was halfway out of the car and his attention was drawn to the crossbow slung over his shoulder by the too casual hand that shifted to the strap across the wide chest.

The shift from the wounded stance to a fighting one was as smooth as a dance and subtle. He’d only met the man once before but that wary, coiled readiness had stuck in his mind.

Rick shook his thoughts from his mind and returned to the quiet bar and took a deep swallow of his cold beer, he let out a breath and closed his eyes in brief contentment as the cool beer warred with the heat which had plagued him all day.

He observed the other man when he put the heavy glass back on the table. Daryl seemed to have decided to ignore his presence and was carefully inspecting the grain of the wooden tabletop  

It was nice to sit in silence and not pay much attention to anything in particular. Shane always wanted an audience and the bigger the crowd the better in his opinion, so evenings out with Shane were rarely calm.

This wasn’t really the place to meet new people and party into the night but Rick got the feeling Daryl’s presence dissuaded most people from introducing themselves in most places.

He observed the other man over the rim of his glass. Maybe that assessment was too harsh, he wasn’t an unattractive man and Rick was sure more than one woman let their interest show on any given night out. The large exposed biceps didn’t hurt.

There was a surprising delicateness to his face, a sharp jaw and attractive eyes. Something about his features drew the eye and made the attention linger.

Daryl had the dramatic V shaped body most men desired , broad shoulders and narrow hips, but he had a way of holding himself that displayed how he knew how to use his body, even as he hunched his shoulders and slumped low to hide his strength it still came through in the fluidity of his movements.

Daryl noticed his attention and watched him with narrowed eyes.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” Rick offered, casting a glance around the dim bar. Daryl shrugged one shoulder and kicked his long legs out under the table.

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to drink on my own without being bothered.” He said pointedly. Rick hummed into his beer but didn’t react otherwise. “If a bunch of cops are coming though, I’ll be leaving.” He looked like he’d stopped himself from saying more, something derogatory towards the police no doubt. Rick shook his head.

“Doubtful, they go somewhere else.” Daryl didn’t look convinced and Rick realised he wanted to smile, amused by the other man. “Honest, I’m probably the only cop you’ll see tonight.”

“Don’t you lot hunt in pairs?”

“Only on duty. Maybe I wanted a quiet place to drink on my own without being bothered.” Daryl shot him a narrow eyed look and pointedly looked at the empty tables around them.

Rick’s lips curved into an amused smile and shrugged.

They sunk back into silence but it seemed less tense this time, more welcome.

Rick tried not to think about anything in particular and just enjoy the quiet company even as his mind drifted back over his day. His problems with Lori warred with the seemingly fruitless hunt for a killer.

His mind drifted back to Shane and his sermon on the Guy Gospel from days ago. They’d skirted around the topic ever since, never mentioning it specifically because neither of them really wanted to be talking about it at all.

It didn’t mean Rick hadn’t been thinking about it.

“What’s the difference between men and women?” If Daryl was surprised by the impromptu conversation starter he didn’t show it.

He shrugged, eyes down to where his fingers traced carefully over the grain of the wooden table top, the journey of his fingers surprisingly delicate. Rick watched his progression carefully, hypnotised by the careful precise movements.

“Nothing. They’re both arseholes.” He didn’t offer anything more and Rick found himself nodding as he took that in.

It wasn’t helpful, not really, but it was the most honest answer he’d received or thought of. It didn’t fix what Lori had said, what Carl had asked him, didn’t make everything alright but there was some comfort to be found in the blunt assessment. Everyone was an arsehole, this wasn’t new.   

 

When Daryl finished his beer he gestured for the bartender to bring two more over one was placed in front of Rick who nodded his thanks to the other man who shrugged disinterestedly.

Rick wondered if it was him imagination that Daryl looked a little pleased when he accepted the drink, a small curl at the corner of his lips caught before he ducked his head back down.

At some point they found themselves taking idly, conversation drifting in and out without effort, they discussed Daryl’s hunting and Rick laughed outright when Daryl sneered openly when the topic of weekend adventurers came up, his laughter made Daryl perse his lips to avoid smiling along.

Hunting had never really been a part of Rick’s life and he had never found himself so interested in the topic than when Daryl shared bits of his knowledge. Rick got the feeling they were barely scraping the surface of what Daryl knew.

Daryl suited the woods, there was something untamed about him, more than just his blunt unfriendliness, there was something coiled and instinctual like an animal.

He seemed proud about his hunting but not boastful, it was matter of fact as though there was never any doubt in his mind that it was skill and experience that bagged the deer not luck.

He spoke about his crossbow when Rick prompted him, eyeing the tight muscle of his exposed arms and the calloused, strong looking hands that gave quick aborted gestures which darted through the air in sharp precise movements. 

He knew a lot of people liked crossbows but he doubted any of them knew their weapon as well as the man in front of him.

Daryl ducked his head and smiled his thanks when Rick brought the next round. Rick chose not to examine the comradery they’d settled into, accepting it for what it was -company over a drink.

 

The time passed quickly, they drifted between conversation topics and companionable silence and Rick couldn't remember the last time he’d had such a relaxing evening with someone he hadn't known since he was a teenager.

When the last call rang out at midnight Rick looked around in surprise. There was a couple of men sitting at the bar but otherwise the place had emptied out.

Daryl’s attention was focused on the cuticle he was picking at but his eyes darted around the empty bar and back at Rick.

They settled the bill and wandered out into the warm night air. Daryl was already heading off towards a beat up looking pickup truck.

"Are you alright to drive?" Rick asked, because it was the only thing he could think to say and for some reason he wanted to extend their evening even more, wanted to stay in the nice bubble of quiet companionship where he didn't have to think of everything that was going wrong and strained in his life.

Daryl rolled his eyes and seemed a little surprised at himself for the action.

"I'm fine Officer." Rick got the distinct impression he was being teased and he smiled. "Are you?" Rick nodded and Daryl took that as goodbye and moved towards his truck and climbed into the driver’s seat without a backwards glance.

Rick stood in the warm night air enjoying the empty street for a while before he shook himself and climbed into his own car and drove home.

 

There were no lights on when he pulled up to the driveway. He sat in the car and contemplated the house.

Lori would be annoyed, he hadn't meant to spend so long at the bar and the excuse that he lost track of time wouldn't cut it. He hoped she was asleep and they wouldn't have to deal with it tonight when the lingering buzz of a good evening still hummed under his skin.

He pulled himself out of the car and into the house, acutely aware of every noise he made. He wondered absently if he was quiet enough to go hunting but shook the thought from his mind as he entered his bedroom.

Lori was a still lump under the light covers and Rick chose to pretend that he believed she was a sleep.

He changed and climbed into bed where he stared up at the ceiling listening to the house settle in the still night.

“Where were you?” Lori sounds tired.

Rick bites back a sigh, he didn’t want to get into this right now but he knew he had to.

“I was at a bar.”

“With who?”

“Myself.” He lied before he realised he was going to. He blinked up at the shadows in surprise. Lori huffed and there was the sound of rustling sheets.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me anymore?” That wasn’t true, he’d never been one for talking and she knew that.

He’d always worked to keep the stress of the job away from her and Carl, it was his way of protecting them against the horrors of the world, even in a small town like theirs, the thing about being a cop though was that the work had a way of taking up your thoughts.

He’d never been one to talk through his feelings, it wasn’t helpful, he needed to sort things out in his mind before he could hope to articulate them and for years he’d thought she understood that, it was only recently it’d become a problem.

“What do you want me to say Lori?”

“Say something. Say anything. Just _speak_!” Rick didn’t have anything to say to that and after a moment of silence Lori seemed to realise it.

There was silence from the other side of the bed before the rustling of sheets signalled her laying back down.

Rick stared up at the darkness until eventually he fell asleep.

 

Shane found him early the next morning at his locker at the station before their shift started. Shane leant against the adjacent locker and rubbed at his hair in a sign of frustration as he eyed Rick out of the corner of his eye.

“Look man, I’m sorry I was a dick last night.” Rick turned to look at him but didn’t say anything.

Rick would have been fine not talking about it, shrugging it off as a shitty day for the both of them but maybe Shane was right and they needed to clear the air.

Rick couldn’t have tension between Shane _and_ Lori, he wouldn’t survive that.

Shane lost the kicked puppy look and grinned winningly at Rick.  “Come on man, I’m a dick.” Rick nodded sagely and Shane laughed, punching him the arm and it was all good again.

Ron Kendel pushed past Shane on his way to his locker, Lenny met Rick’s eye over his partners shoulder and rolled his eyes as an apology for Ron.

Ron was a good cop but he wasn’t always the best with people, Rick got the feeling sometimes he didn’t like Shane very much, in the way a lot of men don’t like Shane because he’s cocky and handsome and confident around women.

Rick couldn’t count how many time’s that’d gotten the pair of them into trouble when they were growing up, Rick dragged along with him because they were more blood than friends.

Closing his locker he and Shane left the change area and headed to their desks, shoulders knocking companionably as they walked.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings for Violence with this chapter.
> 
> Beta'd by the dear underacherrytree, thanks!

Merle was on a rampage when Daryl made it back to the house after the day he spent losing himself in the woods. Night had closed in and the blur of the living room light glinted through the trees that surrounded the property. He could hear him before he even broke the line of the woods and Daryl slowed to a halt at the property line.

The rain was coming down hard, he was soaked through to the skin even though he’d been under the cover of the canopy. His hair clung to his head and face in cold clumps and beads of water kept running down the back of his already damp neck, sending chills down his spine.

He knew the storm was coming but it had arrived suddenly and he’d been caught out in it like a fucking amateur, and now the whole world smelt wet.  
He was dressed lightly and had been out for six hours now. Night had already fallen and he knew he couldn’t spend a night out with the rain coming down like this and definitely not in inappropriate attire.

He’d been out in worst conditions, and for longer, but summer storms were unpredictable and could be wild. He wasn’t fool enough to stay out in one unprepared. There was no point putting himself in a situation like that when home, however tense it might be, was only a few strides away.

He squared his shoulders, breathed in the scent of the woods and gritted his teeth as he broke the property line and moved towards the light of his house. There was the sound of glass breaking and a loud thump. Daryl’s steps faltered but he was already moving and he couldn’t back out now.

He was pushed out of the doorway by a half dressed woman he vaguely recognised. She didn’t even cast him a glance, swearing over her shoulder back into the house as she kicked off her high heel shoes and swooped down to add them to the pile of clothes in her arms.

Daryl looked away from her sagging black bra above her soft stomach. She seemed unconcerned by her nudity, storming out into the rain towards her car, hissing angrily the whole time. Daryl watched as she threw her arm load onto the passenger seat of the car and pulled on a top with rough jerky movements before taking the time to poke at her running make up and mussed hair.  
The car pulled away with a spray of watery mud and weaving tail lights disappearing into the storm.

 

A thud inside drew Daryl’s attention back to the house and he cocked his head to listen to Merle cursing up a storm. From the doorway he watched his brother pace in and out of his view, bottle in his hand and face contorted with anger.

Merle was like their daddy, more than Daryl would ever be. Daryl remembers when he was a little kid, before Merle left -first for juvie, then for the Marines, and after that jail- Merle used to call him the bastard. He would hiss like a wet cat, eyes narrowed in hateful slits of ice blue. He would stand tall, refusing to be cowed by the beatings.

As he grew older he learnt to take the hits and hold himself like he might strike back, though he never did. Neither of them did.  
Daryl knew Merle thought it was something about him that inspired the violence. He didn’t know Daryl got the full force of it after he left or that it went on for years.

Merle likes to think he saved Daryl from that side of their daddy, that leaving made it better somehow. Daryl didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to take away the thing his brother saw as his one good deed.

He doesn’t understand why Merle let himself become like the bastard when he got like this; eyes crazy and face all wrong with the drugs coursing through his system.

Daryl got angry when he drank some things, it was in their blood, no escaping it. But the drink didn’t make them cruel like it had their daddy, the drugs did that. That’s why Daryl didn’t like doing them much, he hated waking up in the morning feeling all strung out and wrong and seeing his daddy in the mirror.

Merle didn’t see it like that, probably didn’t realise how much like the bastard he became. He hadn’t hung around as long as Daryl had, hadn’t seen when the sober days became fewer and fewer until they no longer existed. Hadn’t seen him get sick with the drink like it was rotting him from the inside out and leaving nothing but anger, violence and bitterness.

It wasn’t just the drinking that made Merle like their daddy, he looked like him too. More and more, with each day, he became worn and ugly from the world.

He’d been a good looking guy when he was younger; when his face was softer and his expression less mean. Merle’d taken one look at the world when he was just a kid and decided then and there to make himself tough.

Daryl remembered when there’d been a softness to him, a gentleness to his face he’d hidden by jutting his jaw and frowning -making him look tougher and making sure the other kids knew not to mess with him. Daryl had never learnt to do that, his face didn’t work like that and he’d been jealous of his brother for it.

The older Merle got the more he looked like the bastard, though he retained the strong build, his barrel chest sat right, his arms thick with muscle even as he softened a little with age. Daryl remembered their daddy as a sunken creature, huge and towering over him, thick and strong. When he wasn’t flinching from the pain or disappearing into the woods, he could see how deteriorated he had become, how his body wasn’t like it was meant to be.  
Merle didn’t suffer from that, he’d be as strong as an ox till the day he dies.

Daryl took after their mother, he didn’t remember much about her but he remembered her hair, long and straight, shining red and brown and gold in the sunlight, pale skin and pretty angles to her face.

They probably made a striking pair back when his daddy was a young man. He’d wondered sometimes if it was his resemblance to his mum which made the bastard so angry, if in the pickled black heart of his he’d loved her and missed her.

It’s a waste of time thinking about that shit though. Didn’t stop the thoughts coming in sometimes. But dwelling on a long dead bastard and a woman he didn’t remember didn’t make anything better.

 

Daryl pushed away from the doorway and made his way quietly toward his room. He put his crossbow where it’d remain out of sight. He didn’t need to but it was a habit he’d picked up as a kid, he hid anything he might care about when the bastard got angry.

He was bending over to untie his boot when he was grabbed from behind, an iron grip in his hair pulling him backward to the ground.  
“Why won’t you cut your damn hair? You look like some pussy hippy.” Merle wasn’t shouting, not now, he spoke through gritted teeth and that was almost worst.

His face was red and blotchy, his words slurred but his grip felt unbreakable. Daryl’s head was at an awkward angle, half raised from the ground and straining his back in an awkward arch.

He should have seen the kick to the ribs coming but he’d felt rattled. Before the pain had even fully developed, Merle forced his head back and down to the ground with a solid hit which made his teeth rattle.

He’d made a mistake coming home, he should have chanced the storm in the woods.

He rolled onto his hands and knees before Merle landed another kick. The solid impact to his guts forced the breath from his lungs in a whoosh.  
It wasn’t a fair fight. He didn’t have a chance to brace himself or get on even footing. He hadn’t seen the attack coming and that pissed him off more than he could say.

He gasped into the dirty, grey carpet under his face trying to stop his lungs seizing for air which was no longer there. Merle grabbed his hair again, pulling his head back in an uncomfortable angle.

He let a string of curses out through gritted teeth when Merle dragged him across the small hall. He tried to ease the pull by scrambling along but it didn’t stop the burn of the rug against his bare skin or the agony of Merle’s grip on his hair.

Merle tossed him against the wall and Daryl tried to make himself limp and boneless like a rag doll so the impact didn’t hurt too much.  
Merle’s attention was scattered, drifting from one thing to another, mumbling and shouting to himself about things that didn’t make any sense to Daryl. His pale eyes flicking across the room, mad and unfocused with chemicals.

 

Daryl took the distraction to try and raise himself up somewhat with the help of the wall. He lunged at Merle’s knees and knocked him down and let his fists fly.

His punches were clumsy and didn’t have enough weight behind them but for a moment they were enough to disorientate his brother.  
He didn’t have the upper hand for long. Merle threw him off with a roar of fury like he weighed nothing.

He felt the hot spark of something sharp which might have been glass before he was being tugged roughly by the ankle and fists started landing, making contact and glancing off bone. Merle wasn’t holding anything back, he fought like he’d die if he stopped.

Daryl could taste blood in his mouth and his ribs felt like they were turning to powder under the assault. One solid hit to his gut made him gag on vomit and he rolled to his side to let it out.

Merle took the moment to climb to his feet and cross to the bottle of moonshine on the far side of the room. He chugged greedily at the bottle after another solid kick to Daryl’s knee from his booted foot.

Daryl tried to stand but flinched back down when Merle threw the bottle at the ground beside his head. It shattered, sending glass flying everywhere.  
Angered, Merle barrelled towards him. Daryl only had enough time to duck his head to protect it before a hit landed with the full weight of Merle behind it onto his lower back.

He crumpled face first into the carpet as pain shot through him like a bolt of lightning, seizing his body in an agonising explosion which fanned out from the impact.

There was the sound of a zipper through the roar of blood in his ringing ears and he realised what was happening the second before a hot splash of piss lashed across his damp jeans and lower back. He squeezed his eyes against the humiliation and pressed his face hard into the carpet as Merle wandered off before he was finished. His footsteps stomped loudly to the other end of the house.

Daryl’s body protested as he got up. His muscles spasmed and his legs buckled as he tried to stand. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned hotly. He wanted to curl into a ball in a dark corner and cry until he dried out completely but he refused to submit.

He clenched his teeth around the scream that wanted to tear itself out of his throat, but would do nothing but piss Merle off, and made his tortuously slow way across the room. Each step was like a punishment, like the beating hadn’t ended. When he pushed out into the downpour he thought the weight of the rain would send him to the ground and finish the job.

He didn’t have anything but his phone on him and there was nobody to call, so it was useless. He left the keys to the cars and bikes in the house and he didn’t want to risk going back in there.

He cut through the woods to the main road, pausing when the pain stole his breath to lean his weight against the rough bark of the familiar trees. As his breathing steadied he tipped his head back to the rain that slipped through the thick canopy above. His eyes closed against the familiar shadows and let the white noise of the rain drown out any thought that tried to encroach on the haze of his mind.

 

The mud on the side of the road was thick and slippery under foot. The hot summer had made roadsides hard packed and dried out, with the deluge of water it became dangerous to both car and foot.

After a moment’s indecision beside the empty road he angled himself towards town because there was nowhere else to go and the woods were too dangerous in this weather and his condition.

 

It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move. The pain raced through him, hot enough to burn and it felt like his insides were trying to tear through his flesh. Each breath made bile rise in his throat and with each step a fresh wave of pain lanced through him. In the haze of it he wondered if he was going to die. He knew in the back of his mind he wouldn’t, though that couldn’t stop him from wishing.

There was pressure in his eyes and he wondered if he was crying. It didn’t matter if he was, not out here. The rain was coming down so heavily that nobody would ever know, even him.

He swallowed bile and breathed heavily, gritting his teeth and pushing on, sloshing through the mud on the side of the road.  
He pushed on because there was nothing else he could do. Pain was his oldest and most loyal friend. It was the thing he understood best in this world, better than hunting, better than the woods.

He’d find a place to hole up and go back home tomorrow afternoon when Merle would be sleeping it off. If he got hungry he’d dumpster dive behind the diner. They always throw out a lot of good food and they stacked their crates so it wouldn’t even hurt too much more to get it.  
There was the purr of a car and the hiss of tires over the wet road through the sound of the rain and he turned his head to watch the car approach. It slowed before stopping and Daryl just felt exhausted. He had nothing worth stealing, couldn’t fight and while a night in lockup seemed like a good idea he wouldn’t make friends refusing to talk about his injuries.

He didn’t recognise the figure until he was nearly on top of him. Rick Grimes stood in the mud on the side of the road, asking him something he couldn’t hear over the driving rain.

Rick stepped closer and grasped his arm gently, the contact was so hot he flinched away from it instinctually.  
He looked at the other man as he pulled gently on Daryl’s arm. As a wave of exhaustion coincided with a lancing bolt of pain, he decided, just once, to trust that somebody was not going to worsen his pain.

Rick steered him towards the car, opening the passenger side door and helping him lower himself down into the seat without saying a word. As the door closed with a thud, the roar of the rain faded and was replaced by the clamour of it on the roof and windows.

He watched through the windscreen as Rick hurried around the front of the car to the driver’s side. He threw himself into the car and tossed his wet hair off his forehead with a flick of his head before turning to look at Daryl.

His sharp blue eyes roved over Daryl and he wondered how he looked to the other man; soaking wet, shivering from the cold, wearing his sleeveless top and dirty jeans, mud up to his knees and a bloom of watery-pink blood spreading over his skin with the water.

Rick said something though Daryl didn’t bother to listen. Sinking down as best he could in the leather seat, he tried to find a position that didn’t hurt. He closed his eyes against the quiet of the car, biting back the noises he wanted to make, which he knew would sound like a wounded animal.

The car started moving and Daryl tried to pretend the world no longer existed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beda'd by the great underacherrytree

Rick had pulled the wet and bloody Daryl out of his car with effort. Daryl seemed to have regained some of his bite back, no longer the broken doll of a person Rick’d had to maneuverer into his car.

He didn’t want any help in walking from the car to the house but his legs weren’t cooperating. So they endured the slow trek from the car into the house in silence together.

Eventually he got him into the bathroom and had placed some towels down on the counter before ordering the younger man to have a shower and instructing him to drop his clothes outside the door. He left no room for argument but even so, some part of him remained doubtful as he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

After what felt like a small eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Daryl tossed his dirty clothes into the hallway. A single hand emerged from a crack in the door to deposit the clothes before darting back into the room like a wary snake before the door closed firmly seconds later.

Rick felt a sigh escape him as he scooped up the load of soiled clothes. They were soaked through and felt gritty with dirt and mud. He moved into the laundry and shuffled the clothes into one hand so he could open the machine. A faint whiff of urine floated from the clothes at the movement and Rick fumbled with the fabric in his hands.

He looked towards the bathroom. He knew his eyes were wide and his grip on the offending fabric had become tight. He could hear the sound of the shower just beyond, if he concentrated he thought he could hear the sound of the other man moving.

He gritted his teeth and set about putting Daryl’s clothes in the wash, tossing in a few extra items without really thinking and slamming the door closed.

He rested his weight against the washer and breathed deeply. He could hear the running water, a white noise in the empty house which would usually sooth him but tonight it did nothing but set his teeth on edge. He imagined what horrors that water was running over, washing piss, blood and mud from his skin. The bruises would bloom in the hot water and Rick had no doubt there’d be a lot of them.

Rick barely knew Daryl but he knew he was a proud man, too proud to ask for help most of the time and too proud to show weakness. Guys like that learnt early on not to show any weaknesses. Rick himself avoided it as best he could. The way Daryl hunched in on himself, the way he moved so cautiously, flinching away from Rick's helping hand screamed weakness, injury, wounded prey.

The very act of letting Rick help spoke volumes.

There was the clunk of the pipes shutting off and Rick shook himself from his thoughts and made his way to his bedroom, not allowing himself to pause at the bathroom door.

He scrounged around his clothes and came up with a pair of sweatpants and a soft worn t-shirt Lori must have overlooked when she last threw out the clothes she’d deemed unacceptable. It was a little larger than his others and was probably the only thing he owned that would fit Daryl’s wide shoulders.

He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door to announce his arrival before pushing it open.

Daryl stood in the centre of the modest bathroom, one towel wrapped tightly around his waist and the other draped over his shoulders like a cape he’d wrapped around himself. Rick paused, startled by the image. Carl had done the same thing when he was younger, wrapped himself tightly in the towels, shoulders hunched and towel held closed tightly with a fist in front of him.

Daryl watched him, seemingly unmoved by his presence in the room. Rick held his clothes out like an offering and Daryl’s sharp eyes focused on them.  He seemed to consider his grip on the towel around his shoulder and the clothes on offer. The clothes eventually won out and Daryl reached forward to grab them.

Rick tried not to notice how he gritted his teeth and his brows knitted together in apparent pain at the small movement. He made a point of looking away while Daryl dressed, but his attention was brought back to the other man when he snorted indelicately and huffed a quiet laugh.

When Rick turned back Daryl was holding up the t-shirt Rick had found and for the first time Rick looked closely at it. It was one of his old police academy t-shirts and bore the shield and name proudly across the chest. Daryl was looking at him amused and he held the top with his fingertips.

“I ain’t wearing no cop shirt.”

“It’s the only thing I’ve got that’ll fit you.” Rick shrugged helplessly.

Daryl’s eyes flickered between him and the top in his hands before he snorted again.“I’m not wearing that.” He scrunched the cloth up in his hands and tossed it towards the corner without looking. Rick stared at the balled up fabric and laughed into the warm damp room. His laughter was tinged with perhaps a little hysteria but neither man mentioned it.

He distractedly herded the other man into the spare bedroom, pausing only to grab the first aid kit.

Daryl stood awkwardly at the foot of the guest bed, he seemed large and awkwardly shaped in the meticulously designed guest room. Lori had spent weeks picking the right paint and furnishings. She wanted the room to house anyone from Shane to her mother comfortably. Watching Daryl shift on his feet and look warily at the soft furnishings, Rick couldn’t help but think Lori had failed. He’d never seen someone look more out of place than Daryl did right now.

He bit back a smile and nodded for the other man to sit on the bed. He did, perching on the very edge and looking like he’d hover off it if he could.

“I’m going to fix you up.” He waved the kit in his hand and glared at Daryl when he looked like he was going to argue. Rick knew his face was cold, it was the expression he used to silence uncooperative assailants. A muscle in Daryl’s jaw jumped but he remained still, watching with narrowed eyes as Rick approached.

Rick surveyed the damage. There was a cut above his eyebrow which was bleeding, the blood mixed with water from his hair and bloomed pink. Another on the edge of his jaw near his ear. A couple of bruises were blooming up and swelling his face slightly. There looked to be a graze down his left bicep and bruises were starting to show across his ribs, big ugly blossoms of colour that spanned most of his torso.

Rick noticed his knuckles were torn and bloody and a spark flared inside his chest which could have been pride, though that seemed inappropriate. He fought back.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d first feared. The damage was mostly on his torso, his face relatively clear of bruising though there was a small amount of swelling around the cut on his forehead and his jawline. The worst of it was to his ribs which he could do nothing for besides ice and maybe strap later on if it’d help. His main concern was internal injuries but since Daryl was conscious he didn’t think he could take him to a hospital, he’d just keep a very close eye on him.

The grazes and cuts needed to be cleaned and a couple would need to be dressed. Setting his jaw Rick opened the kit on the bed beside Daryl and put on a pair of gloves, mostly out of habit, body relying on the first aid training they all had to do every couple of years at the station.

He could see Daryl fighting his instinct to recoil when Rick drew near, his hand turning Daryl’s face to better reach the cut on his forehead. It was a long cut and surprisingly deep.  Rick worried at his lip as he squinted at it, it didn’t look like he’d need stiches he determined, butterfly bandages would do.

Rick concentrated on his job and the room sunk into silence. The only sound was their breath and the distant sound of rain against the roof and trees outside.

Daryl stayed as still as a statue, eyes averted over Rick’s shoulder and doing his best to ignore the other man completely. When Rick moved to the cut along his jaw he raised his chin without a word, teeth gritted.

Unbidden, a though popped into Rick’s mind and he found himself blinking dumbly at the stretch of lightly stubbled jaw and the curve of Daryl’s throat.

Submissive dogs bare their throat to their Alphas.

Rick blinked blankly for a moment, hearing Terry the dog handler down at the station explain to Rick a couple of years ago as they watched the new dog pace nervously in front of the kennels.

The stretch of throat in front of him bobbed as Daryl swallowed and Rick’s eyes darted to look at the other man’s. They were lowered and looking away from Rick and he wondered if Daryl was thinking about the vulnerability of his position. He was a hunter, and a good one to hear him talk of it, he bet he knew about animal behaviours.

Rick rested his hand across the other man’s throat just lightly, as though adjusting it minutely to better get at the injury. He felt the rabbit-fast beating of Daryl’s pulse and swallowed thickly.   

Rick shook the thought from his head and removed his hand. He returned his focus to the task in front of him. He worked efficiently, not touching Daryl more than necessary and avoiding meeting his eye. He felt as though he’d somehow violated Daryl’s trust with his brief lapse in concentration and he was left feeling strange and stretched thin.

With each new injury found and dealt with Ricks blood boiled just a little more. He’d received a few good hits, probably hit the ground and been kicked if the state of his ribs were anything to go by. There was a starburst of small cuts and scratches on his side like he’d landed on a sharp uneven surface. The graze on his arm suggested he’d been pulled along when he was down and Rick felt protective anger burn in his gut.

Rick finished with Daryl’s hands, the sharp bite of antiseptic hangs in the air. He rested back on his heels and knelt before the other man, attention focused on the torn skin of his knuckles. Pulling them from Daryl’s lap and uncurling them from the tight fist they seemed set in.

He didn’t look up when he finally spoke into the deathly quiet of the room.

“Who did this?” his voice seemed gravelly, even to himself. Daryl didn’t say anything and when Rick glanced up his attention was fixed on what Rick was doing to his knuckles. “Daryl.” he prompted and the other man shot him a quick glance.

“No one.” He grunted and Rick squeezed the injured hand he held.

“Daryl.” Rick packed as much disapproval and frustration as he could in the short word and it seemed to work.

There was a minute hunching of his shoulders and Daryl’s eyes narrowed at where their hands were joined as the muscle in his jaw twitched again. There was a silence as Daryl seemed to decide what to do.

“Merle,” he eventually releases, more a noise than a distinct word, but Rick understood clear enough. “He was high, I pissed him off.” A chill ran down Rick’s spine.

“I should arrest him.” Rick stated. Standing up as though to do it that very moment. He was tempted, boy was he tempted.

The anger that had been boiling up inside roared to the front and formed in his mind in the clear shape of a sneering Merle Dixon, blunt features twisted and wide shoulders and competent hands raised to hit.

“Don’t you dare!” Daryl snarled. No longer meek and beaten as he was just moments ago, this was Daryl as Rick had first met him, standing strong and ready for a fight. “You ain’t arresting my brother.”

“He beat the shit out of you.” As though Daryl had somehow forgotten about the swelling and bruising that was taking hold of his body. Daryl shook his head, as though Rick was the one missing the point.

“He’s still my brother.” He said brother like some people said hero, doctor, or saint.

They stood squaring off to each other in Rick’s guest room, the muted colour schemes and inoffensive soft furnishings never having witnessed a standoff like this.

Rick breathed, eyeing the way the muscles in Daryl’s arms quivered. Through pain, exhaustion or defiance Rick couldn’t tell, but he could see the man needed to rest, not to have another fight tonight.

He raised his hands and nodded slowly, relaxing his frame and letting the other man see him take a small step back.

“Alright, alright.” He relented and after a moment’s pause Daryl stood down, sinking back onto the edge of the bed and looking down at his newly treated knuckles.

“You should sleep.” Rick finally broke the stillness. Daryl looked up before glancing around the room and back at Rick with a confused frown settling onto his face. Rick pretended not to notice and gestured to the bed he sat on. “If you need anything in the night, my rooms just down the hall.”

Daryl was still looking at him as though waiting for him to rescind the offer, as though he’d suddenly realise who he was talking to and kick him out.

A hollow feeling settled in Rick’s stomach that might have been sadness. He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the door open a crack and strode purposely down the hall stopping briefly to check on Daryl’s clothes in the wash.

 

Rick slept poorly that night. It wasn’t the unfamiliar person in the house, wasn’t the absence of Lori at his side or the knowledge that Carl was across town. He woke frequently, tangled in the sheets with visions of Daryl and Rodrigues flickering in and out of focus. Bruised bodies, beaten in heads, the bloom of blood against tanned skin and the musk of piss on damp clothes. They all whirred around inside his mind in a way that made him feel sick.

He woke before dawn and watched the shadows lighten on the ceiling, shifting through hues of grey before the clock on his side table flicked over to six a.m. and Rick deemed it an appropriate time to get up.

He moved silently through the house, moving the clothes in the washer to the dryer. He then wandered into the kitchen where he prepared himself a large mug of coffee and stared blankly out the kitchen window until the dryer buzzed at the end of the cycle.

The worn fabric was warm and soft to the touch when he pulled it out. The thin flannel shirt with the torn off arms felt almost delicate, worn thin and soft from use. The jeans had holes in them and frayed cuffs that tangled and knotted together. He folded the lot, knotting the socks neatly into themselves and sandwiching the briefs between shirt and jeans like his mother had always done and Rick had always considered amusingly modest.

He returned to the kitchen, the early morning sunshine glowing brightly through the window as though the storm from last night had never happened. He sat the small pile of clothes beside him on the counter and helped himself to another cup of coffee and tried to keep his mind blank.

The vision of Robert Rodrigues floated in front of his mind and he worried at the thought like a bad tooth, not wanting to touch on it directly but unable to leave it alone.

Had Merle Dixon done that? While he was a person of interest, Rick had never had him as a prime suspect in the murder. A bastard and a delinquent sure, but he hadn’t struck Rick as guilty when they questioned him. But if he was capable of doing what he’d done to his brother, who idolised him, what would stop him from beating a man like Rodrigues to death for whatever wrong he’d committed?

The thoughts circled around his mind, chasing each other and drifting in and out of focus until eight thirty when his phone buzzed; a message from Carl asking to be picked up before his friend Joey had to go to his grandparents. Rick sent off a reply and rested the phone down on the counter.

His attention was caught by the clothes at his side and he rubbed at his wedding ring absently as he thought about what to do.

He decided to tell his house guest where he was going and to extend the welcome to stay, at least for breakfast. His protective instinct rushed to the surface at the thought of sending Daryl back to the house with the man that had beat him up. Daryl was a grown man, Rick couldn’t stop him doing something he wanted to.

He nudged the door to the guest room open slightly and a strip of light splashed across the room and illuminated the figure laying across the bed from corner to corner. His lips quirked in a smile at the sprawled form until his eyes settled on the expanse of Daryl’s back, lit brightly by the hallway light. The bruising looked like smudged shadows already but it was the thin lines of scars which made Rick freeze in the doorway.

They looked like whip marks, old ones, as though it had been some years since they were bloody red welts across skin. They were scattered across the width of his shoulders and faded at the edges in the way scars do when the body they’re on grows.

His mind whirred with remembered arrest reports for Merle and their father. Assault, drunk and disorderly, indecent behaviour, resisting arrest. 'Like father, like son' seemed particularly true for the Dixon family. Rick had read the reports on the late daddy Dixon and had been unimpressed by the image they painted of the man and now he felt that twist into disgust and fury.

Closing his eyes from the sight and breathing deeply to calm his mind, Rick shoved that to the side and moved quietly into the room. He had barely moved two paces past the doorway before Daryl was sitting up, eyes blurry with sleep but still sharply zeroing in on him.

“Your clothes,” Rick offered, placing them on the edge of the bed, Daryl stared at the neat pile and seemed confused by the sight of them. “I have to go pick up my son, but I’d like for you to stay, rest a little longer. I’ll only be gone a half hour at most.” Daryl looked like he was going to protest, his hand gripping the bed sheet to his chest absently as though he was a maiden concealing herself.

He glanced around the room waking up and looked uncomfortable at the thought of staying. “I can go.”

Rick shook his head. “No need. Rest up.”

He left before Daryl could argue. When he glanced back into the room after getting dressed he saw the hunched figure already settled back into bed and he smiled to himself as he let himself out.

 

Rick will deny later that he drove a little faster through the sleepy streets then he normally would. It wasn’t that he was worried Daryl would do anything to the house while he was out, he just knew there was a strong likely-hood he would be gone by the time he made it home and Rick didn’t want that.

He didn’t examine why but he felt protective of the other man. Though god and the world knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, there was just something about Daryl that called to be looked after and Rick could almost say with certainty that he’d never had someone who really did that. He had no doubt his brother watched his back in his own way, but Merle Dixon was not the nurturing or caring type and it was now all too clear that he was capable of turning on him, despite their brotherhood.

Carl was out of the car and running into the house within seconds of Rick pulling into the driveway. Rick following along behind at a more sedate pace.

He heard Carl race down the hallway loudly, footsteps loud like only a child can be. He worried briefly that he should have warned him to be quiet and not to wake the sleeping Dixon but before the thought could take root the guestroom door opened and Daryl emerged still buttoning up his shirt, boots on his feet but not tied.

Daryl glances down the hallway in the direction Carl had disappeared. Nimble fingers push small buttons through their appropriate hole in an absentminded way. Rick tore his eyes away from the flash of tanned skin slowly being concealed behind fabric and met the other man’s eyes.

“Should I go?” he asked, like he was some illicit lover who had to be hidden from the children or a man who women scold their children from looking at in the street. The thought gave Rick pause, perhaps he was. The name Dixon held some weight in this town and he was certainly wild enough to warrant wary looks from mothers in the street –Lori had been very unhappy to find him in her kitchen the last time he’d ended up here.

How did Rick know he didn’t spend his mornings slipping out the back of half the houses in town kissing the women goodbye before their kids woke up and met mum's boyfriend? The thought didn’t sit right with Rick.

Rick ignored the winding tangent his mind had wandered down and smiled as he shook his head. “I’m going to make breakfast.” He offered as an invitation and headed towards the kitchen. There was a moment’s pause before the scuffed footsteps followed him.

Rick set about gathering ingredients as the counter stool scraped across the floor. There was the sound of Daryl settling into the high chair and a bitten off grunt of discomfort.

Rick glanced at Daryl and saw him looking around the room curiously, like he had the last time he’d been there, eyes a little wide and a wrinkle between his eyebrows, as though something about the room confused him.

There was what might have been a squeak from the doorway. Rick glanced up to see his son pausing a step into the kitchen, his eyes darting from his father to Daryl.

“Carl,” Rick greeted, jolting him out of whatever trance he’d been in and entered to room slowly. “This is Daryl,” he nodded his head toward the man and saw him watching Carl almost as warily as Carl was watching him. Rick bit back a smile.

“You’re the guy with the crossbow.” Lori had been livid about Rick allowing a man like that into their house with a weapon. Rick had chosen not to mention that he brought his gun home every day and a gun was a lot easier and quicker to fire than a crossbow.  

Carl seemed to be waiting for some kind of response and Daryl flicked a quick glance at Rick as though asking what to do.Rick raised his eyebrows and smiled encouragingly at him. Daryl’s eyes narrowed before glancing back at Carl who was fiddling with the seatback of the stool next to Daryl’s.

“Yeah.” He eventually grunted.

Carl seemed to take that as some kind of encouragement and pulled himself into the stool.  “Cool.”

The conversation apparently over, Carl pulled out his phone and began typing or playing. Daryl turned a confused look to Rick who shrugged his shoulders and went back to work.

Rick cooked with half an eye on the pair sitting at the counter. Daryl was chewing on his cuticles between fiddling with the bandages above his eyebrow and poking at his bruises as though testing if they still hurt.

Carl put his phone down without being asked and retrieved plates, cutlery and glasses of water for each of them. He set them down before pulling himself back onto the stool and started talking animatedly about Joey’s birthday the night before. Rick saw him shooting the occasional glance at Daryl, a mix of wary anticipation, fear, curiosity and most worryingly, awe.

Halfway through their meal, when Carl had exhausted his stories from the previous night and they had sunk into a companionable silence, Rick realised Carl was watching Daryl eat. Legs swinging on the stool beside him Carl watched openly as Daryl picked at his own food. Daryl ignored him and hunched over his plate, picking the contents apart and shoving it into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean after every couple of mouthfuls.

Rick himself was having a hard time not watching. He ate like a criminal, hunched over and looking ready to fight anyone who tried to take his food from him.

It unsettled Rick to see that in his kitchen but it also upset him to think how the other man developed the habit. He also ate like a starving man, ploughing through the food indiscriminately, seeming not to really care what was in front on him, as long as it was edible. Rick had seen runaways picked up who ate the same way, half-starved and filthy; looking so pale in the interview rooms. Normal peopled didn’t eat like that, savage and ravenous.

It was his hands which Rick couldn’t look away from however. Large, long fingered and agile, they picked at his plate like a snake, quick precise movements before disappearing into his mouth to be drawn out slowly.

If it was anyone but Daryl Rick would roll his eyes at the deliberate ploy of it. Lori used to do a similar thing when they were younger, drawing attention to her fingers and her mouth making it nearly impossible to not think about them and what they were capable of.

There was an honesty about Daryl which made Rick think he had no idea what other people saw when he did it. A wild man and a seduction, he ate like that because that’s how he’s always eaten. He didn’t mess around with mind games and ploys and that distinction was refreshing and honest, attractive even, like most things about Daryl.

Rick clenched his teeth and fixed his eyes on his own plate, the food barely touched.

“Do you always eat like that?” Carl’s voice was loud in the quiet kitchen. Rick glanced up and saw him still staring openly at the other man.

Daryl paused, thumb and finger of his right hand in his mouth. Rick watched as he drew them out slowly, sucking every last crumb of food from his fingertips and he blinked, surprised at Carl. Rick swallowed a mouthful and stared resolutely at his plate.  

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Mom would go mental if I ate like that.”

“Over eating?” his eyes darted to Rick and away again, unsure what was going on.

“With my fingers,” Carl clarified.

Daryl looked down at his own fingers, picking through the remains on his plate and Rick saw him cast a glance at the forks in both Rick and Carl’s hands.

Daryl frowned down at his plate, fingers continuing their work before lifting another mouthful to his lips. He chewed aggressively, eyes roaming from father to son.

Rick didn’t really understand why he wanted to smile fondly at him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to my speedy Beta, underacherrytree -you're a star.

Daryl had no idea what was happening or why he was here. He felt over-sized and awkward as though with any wrong move he’d break the whole damn kitchen. Rick however, looked unconcerned to have him in his home eating beside his son.

It was a domestic scene with the three of them sitting around the kitchen counter. Rick leant against the cupboards, smiling fondly at his son as he rambled on.

Daryl wondered if he hadn’t actually woken up and this was some weird dream brought on by the head injury and sleeping in the ugly room straight from a magazine with the stupid amount of pillows piled on top of the bed.

It had seemed like he’d spent the whole night tossing the tasselled things around the room. Every time he shifted uncomfortably, he found another of the damn things.

His ribs hurt. Merle knew how to make a hit hurt and he hadn’t been in the mood to pull his punches.

There was an exhaustion that came with injury. If your body determines that you’re safe it makes sleep a priority and makes your pain more acute and your brain foggy with hurt so that you can rest and take the time to heal. Daryl tried not to sigh as he picked at the cut on his forehead, the skin felt hot and tight to the touch.

He rubbed at the rough strips of butterfly bandages placed along the injury, running his calloused fingertips over the little strips in an absentminded way.

His face heated when he remembered the care Rick had showed cleaning and dressing his injuries the night before. Big hands gentle on his face, careful as he nudged Daryl’s head where he needed it to go, holding him still as he worked. His focus narrowed down to each injury he treated. In that moment, Daryl had taken up Rick’s entire world.

It had been nice to have someone else deal with it for once, to sit still as his wounds were tended to instead of aggravating them as he worked, like he always had before. And then being shuffled into the large, soft bed, that smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent, with the knowledge that, for the time being, he was safe.

Daryl glanced at the kid at his side. He probably didn’t appreciate what he had. Probably took it for granted that his daddy would patch up his injuries and kiss the hurt away.

Daryl felt something twist in his gut and a weird tingle in his chest. It felt a little like jealousy. Like the twist in his stomach he’d get when he was younger and the other kids in the neighbourhood got bikes for Christmas or had a birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese’s and Daryl couldn’t go because it cost money they didn’t have. A mix of jealousy, resentment and longing.

His gut squirmed at the thought of Rick kissing his injuries better. A nonsense image that looked strange to him and which he shied away from even in his own mind.

He scratched at the tight feeling skin on his jaw. It hurt, a sharp jarring feeling that shot through his face as his nail caught on a torn edge. He gritted his teeth against the pain and shifted on the stool unsure how to make himself comfortable. Each breath hurt, the stool was rigid and his face felt hot where he’d picked at it.

Rick shot him a concerned glance which Daryl steadfastly ignored. If there was one thing he didn’t need help with, it was dealing with pain.

Carl finished up and bounded out of the room, leaving his dirty plates on the counter. Daryl listened to him thud through the house and the bang of a door, presumably to his bedroom, being closed and bouncing back open with the force.

Rick set down his cutlery on his empty plate and levelled a steady look at Daryl.

“I want to talk to you about last night,” his voice was calm and even, lighter than his usual low rumble. He sounded like he had when Daryl first met him, all placating _‘Mr Dixon’_ and cop niceness.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and set his feet firmly on the ground, readying himself.

He didn’t like remembering Rick was a cop. He liked him as the guy he had a couple of drinks with, who laughed almost silently when Daryl said something snarky or clever. He didn’t like to think that the guy that had helped him, given him a place to crash and heal, fed him and patched him up with barely a word, was really just a cop looking for a new angle to use to fuck him or his brother over.

“Ain’t nothing to say,” he said, preparing to stand and leave before Rick could push the issue, started listing the shit Daryl should be thanking him for.

“He could have really hurt you last night.” He shook his head at himself, “He did really hurt you last night.” Daryl scoffed, though it made his injuries flare up in all kinds of new ways. “You can’t let him treat you like that.”

“I ain’t some battered wife Rick, we both took our licks.” He stood from his seat. “You’re not arresting my brother.” He spoke clearly, voice firm with eyes and hands steady.

Rick’s eyes flickered from the cut on his forehead to the one on his jaw. They traced the graze that burned hot down his bicep before settling on his shirt, as though he could see through the fabric to the multi-coloured mess his torso had become.

Daryl stayed still, unmoved by the reminder. Rick breathed deeply, closing his eyes and rubbing at his chin tiredly before setting his hands, palms down, on the counter top and leaning his weight forward. The muscles in his forearms twisted and bulged at the resettling of weight as Rick leant in over the counter, not close, but focused entirely on Daryl.

“Alright,” he rumbled, eyes as dark and deep as his voice, “but if I hear he does this again, I will make him pay.” That wasn’t the cop or the good Samaritan, this was the man who handled a gun like a lover; who was dark and dangerous and hid behind the friendly, unassuming mask of Rick Grimes, family man, cop and all round good guy.

They stood in silence after that, not really knowing where to go from there. “You should rest.” Rick finally offered looking at Daryl with hands on his denim-clad, narrow hips and feet planted. He looked like an old fashioned gunslinger from the westerns Daryl used to watch on the battered old black and white they’d had in the living room before his mum died.  

Daryl wanted to shake him because none of this made any sense. Daryl wasn’t the kind of guy you had over as a house guest or that you were comfortable with around your kid. He didn’t belong in places like this: sleeping in an ugly fussy bedroom and eating meals with cops in bright spacious kitchens.

They’d been pushing it sitting at a bar together and getting along. But that was a dim bar where nobody really cared who you are or who you shared a beer with as long as you didn’t cause a problem.

Here was different. Here the world could see clearly that Daryl didn’t belong, that he was a scuffed, scarred mess in old clothes and bruised skin. He shouldn’t be standing here with this man who had patched him up just because it was the right thing to do, who was such a good father and who looked at Daryl like he was worth watching over.

But he was here and seemingly the welcome was still valid and none of this made any sense. But he might as well enjoy the big soft bed while he still could.  

Daryl chose not to say any of this. Instead, he ducked his head and pushed back from the counter nodding to the other man. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at Rick who had turned his attention to collecting the plates and placing them carefully in the sink, keeping half an eye on Daryl’s retreat.

“Where’s your wife?” He asked, only just realising what was missing from this domestic little scene. The pretty brunette who’d look so good on Rick's arm if she wasn’t as cold as she had been last time they met, if she was as bright and nice looking as she was in the picture in her bedroom.

Rick blinked, broken from his thoughts.“At her mothers.”

Daryl’s eyebrows rose on their own.“You not invited?”

Rick’s mouth twisted in a half amused and half annoyed way, as though Daryl hadn’t been too far off the mark.

The thought that a parent wouldn’t approve of someone like Rick was unbelievable. He was as clean cut and presentable as they came, he had a good guy job and, judging by the house, was a good provider. It must have been something else that put that expression on his face.

“I had to stay late to work last night and Carl had a sleepover. It was easier if Lori went on her own.” He shrugged and turned his attention to the dirty dishes.

Daryl left without a word, it wasn’t his business. At least he knew he wouldn’t be kicked out in the next couple of hours and he liked to think Rick would give him a bit of warning before she returned.

 

He kicked off his boots as he entered the guest room but otherwise didn’t bother changing out of his clothes before crawling carefully onto the bed.

He closed his eyes, emptying his mind and sunk into the soft sheets as he tried to remember how to breathe without hurting. He took shallow, gentle breaths that didn’t make his ribs flex or his abdomen ache. At some point he fell asleep.

 

Daryl woke a couple of hours later to the sound of father and son talking and laughing somewhere in the house. Daryl felt the hot curl in his gut that he thought might be jealousy. His own daddy rarely had a kind word to say to him and his attention, when it was on Daryl, had usually been violent.

Rick seemed like a good father, kind but firm, a nice gentle control that came from love and the steadiness inside that said he’d do anything to protect those he cared about.He remembered the cold intent when he’d said he’d make Merle pay if he hurt him again and a shiver ran hotly down his spine to settle in his gut.

He rolled carefully onto his side, hitting the pillows so they sat just right and held him in a gentle embrace, and ignored the shivery hot feeling in his gut.

The room was bland and neat. There wasn’t anything personal scattered about except a handful of worn looking paperback books on a shelf in the corner next to some kind of ornamental bowl.

Daryl glanced at the door, as though checking that he wasn’t being watched, before delicately pulling himself up and over to the shelves. He was being more careful with himself than he usually allowed himself to be. Something about the softness of the room was rubbing off on him. He’d have to shake himself out of it before he went home to the real world.

The books looked like shit: crime dramas and romance novels. He grabbed one of the crime ones, mostly at random, and lowered himself back onto the bed.

He might as well enjoy the bed and clean sheets as long as he had them. He had no doubt the welcome would be rescinded the moment the wife returned and saw who had been sleeping in her polished little room.

He let his body heal, relaxing into the soft sheets and drifting from the book to the occasional nap. Wasting the time away playing pretend that this quiet room was the last place on earth. That he didn’t have to hurt or fight or protect himself. Just for a little while he could instead just watch as the lights shifted and lengthened, until the long shadows of afternoon enveloped the house.

 

He made his way out of the room in silence, wandering the unfamiliar house with quiet steps. Carl was at the computer in his room, large headphones on and attention fixed on the fast moving images on the screen. Daryl moved away, not particularly interested and wandered slowly back down the hallway taking the time to look at the pictures that lined the walls.

There were a few of Carl, from when he was a baby till now, a couple of mother and son smiling brightly at the camera, and one of the three of them smiling out from the frame. They were such a well put together family, looking comfortable and happy together in their neatly pressed clothes and combed hair. Daryl sneered at the picture, it looked pretend, like something out of an ad.

Near the end of the hallway, on a side table, there was a picture of Rick and Lori; they were pressed close together, smiles wide and gleaming as Rick lay a proprietary hand on the small swell of Lori’s belly.

Daryl stared at it for a long moment, eyes lingering on the bump in her stomach, and the way Rick was looking at her as he smiled, bright and happy as she stared out of the picture. He bit back a sigh he didn’t understand and turned away from the picture, heading towards the flickering light of a tv.

Rick was sitting hunched over a coffee table in the living room, tv on but with the sound low and Rick’s attention elsewhere. His gun was in pieces on the table in front of him as his sure, capable hands cleaned each piece individually. The actions were familiar, betraying his comfort and confidence with the parts of his weapon.

Daryl leant against the door frame and watched the focus of the man in front of him as he performed the familiar movements. The metal of the gun gleamed in the lights from the tv.

He didn’t think he made a noise but Rick looked towards the door, eyes landing on Daryl immediately and body going still and tense on the couch for a second.

“ _Jesus_. You’re like a cat,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head and turning back to the barrel in his hands.

It was a big gun. A more classic gun than was popular now-a-days with the increase of easier weapons on the market. It didn’t hold as many bullets but it had force and weight behind it.

You don’t need a lot of bullets if your aim is good and Daryl can appreciate a person with good aim. Anyone could shoot a gun, but a gun like this took skill, finesse and strength. “Hell of a weapon.”

Rick glanced down at the pieces in front of him. “Not standard for the department but I like it,” his fingers lingered on the piece in his hands fondly but his eyes observed Daryl carefully. “You okay?”

Daryl nodded, leaning against the doorframe more heavily and crossed his arms over his chest. “ ’m fine.” The lie was obvious but Rick let it pass and nodded to the other end of the sofa. After a moment’s hesitation Daryl moved into the room and sunk slowly down into the plush seat of the sofa.

His fingers ran across the fabric as he perched on the edge, despite how it made his body ache. Rick was watching him, though his attention appeared to be on the gun in his hands. Daryl forced himself to sit back more comfortably in the sofa even though it made his skin crawl like everything else in this house.

 

The three of them ate dinner in front of the tv that night. Carl sat on the floor. His plate on the coffee table which hours before had held the pieces of Ricks gun, glistening with gun oil. Rick and Daryl sat on opposite ends of the sofa, their plates in their laps. The tv was on in front of them but Daryl didn’t know the show or what was happening. Father and son both seemed to be enjoying it.

Daryl kept his head down and focused on his meal. The meat wasn’t as good as he was used to, but the meal was warm and apparently free. He and Merle didn’t eat meals like this often, if ever.  When Daryl was hunting he lived off fresh scavenged food and trail mix. It was strange to eat like this and it didn’t stop being strange with the more meals they ate together.

Carl kept watching tv after they finished and Daryl found himself trailing after Rick as he took their plates into the kitchen.

Rick handed him a beer from the fridge. He set the plates in the sink and set out to do the dishes. Daryl leant against the counter and watched the other man work. Rick cleaned the dishes with a pensive calm, paying careful attention to everything he washed.

When a pile had started to grow at the side of the sink he glanced sidelong at Daryl and flicked a towel at him, nodding pointedly at the dishes draining on the sink. Daryl raised his eyebrows but set his bottle aside and took the towel.

They stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink. Their reflections were hazy in the darkening window. The sunset painting the suburban scene in warm dusky colours. 

There was the sound of the tv on in the next room and the occasional car passing in the street. A neighbour took out the garbage somewhere in the street. It was a domestic scene and calm in a way that made Daryl’s limbs feel warm and heavy.

The pain was low and distant. The painkillers Rick had given him with his dinner made his mind hazy and the pain muted. 

Rick finished first and set about putting the dishes away as Daryl finished drying the cutlery with a focus he never gave his own at home.

Rick turned back from the cupboards and watched Daryl as he got himself a beer from the fridge. “If I ask you how your feeling again will you punch me?”

Daryl felt his lips curling up in a smile and ducked his head. He kept his voice gruff when he spoke but Rick saw through it. “Probably.”

“You know, one day I’m going to see you without bruises.”

Daryl let out a huff of laughter through his nose and Rick smiled into the mouth of his beer bottle.

“I don’t think I’ve gone a day in my life without a bruise of some kind.”

Rick was quiet at that and Daryl wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say. He wasn’t always sure. People seemed funny about things sometimes and Daryl didn’t always pick up on it.

“I’ve got work early in the morning,” Rick said and nodded Daryl ahead to the back porch. Daryl patted absently at his pockets for his pack of cigarettes but came up empty handed. “Lori shouldn’t be back until late in the afternoon. I’d like you to stay, I should be back before Lori, but I’ll leave my number with you in case she gets home early.” Daryl chewed at a calloused edge of his thumb and eyed the other man. Rick smiled warmly. “She shouldn’t though, she said she doesn’t think she’ll be back before five. I want to give you a ride, take you somewhere safe-“

“I’ll go home.”

Ricks lips went thin but he didn’t say anything more.

They stayed out for a while longer, enjoying the coolness of the evening; however temporary the break from the summer temperatures may be. It’d build back up before they knew it. But for the time being they enjoyed the reprieve as the sky grew dark and the dusk faded to full night.

 

True to his word, Rick left early the next morning. He stuck his head into the room Daryl was using and told him to help himself to the food in the kitchen and the bathroom.

He waved goodbye and Daryl stared up at the shadowed beige ceiling as he listened to Rick and Carl leave the house. There was the murmur of voices, steps, the front door rattling as it closed, more voices, the slamming of car doors. Then the street returned to the muted hum of a busy weekday morning. 

When the street had quieted down and the lights on the ceiling changed, Daryl hoisted himself up and made his way into the bathroom before down to the kitchen. He returned to the room he was using and lowered himself tiredly onto the bed. It would be a shame to lose the bed, he only had a couple more hours with it and he knew he’d have to stop being such a pussy about his injuries when he left.

For the time being he listened to the neighbourhood. The busy morning noise fading out once the school and work rush finished, leaving a strange almost quiet which was different to the sounds of the woods Daryl was familiar with.

 

A car pulled into the driveway a while later, breaking the quiet of the suburban street with its muted rumble.

Daryl blinked awake from the doze he had fallen into and levered himself off the bed to peer out the window. He cursed under his breath when he saw the tall thin woman step out onto the paved driveway. He’d meant to be long gone before she got home and Rick had said she wouldn’t be back until the late afternoon at the earliest.

He reached for his phone and shot off a message with half his attention out the window. At least if he warned the guy he might avoid getting arrested for B&E. It’d be best if he can get out unnoticed which shouldn’t be too hard.

_She’s home_

Daryl frowned when she closed the car door, overnight bag slung over her bony shoulder and didn’t make her way into the house. Instead, she stood in the driveway, hip cocked against her car and phone in her hand looking out towards the street.

Another car pulled up to the house and shut off its engine. Daryl watched as Lori perked up, flicking her long hair over her shoulder and pushing away from the car.

A broad man with dark hair and the same uniform as Rick got out and moved towards the front door. The man seemed comfortable and self-assured as he crossed the yard to catch up with Lori, a cocky swagger to his step that made Daryl want to roll his eyes.

The pair disappeared out of sight and Daryl wanted to hit something. Sneaking past an unsuspecting housewife on her own was easy, a housewife and cop together? Not so easy. Not in his current state at least.

He debated with himself for a moment before sending another message, refusing to think of it as calling for help.

_She’s not alone_

There was a high giggle and the low murmur of voices as the front door opened and closed with a bit of a bang.

The giggle made Daryl freeze in place and his stomach drop. He glanced at his phone but the message had already been sent. He bit back a curse and pressed himself against the wall and concentrated on remaining still and silent, giving no reason for the two people in the house to suspect they weren’t alone.

This wasn’t his business and he needed to get the hell out of here.

His phone buzzed in his hand and the noise seemed deafening to him though he doubted the pair would have heard it.

_I’ll be there in 10. R._

Daryl’s head thumped back against the wall at his back when another giggle and answering rumble rang though the house.

If they went to the bedroom Daryl might be able to sneak out if he was quiet but it sounded like they weren’t going to move deeper into the house, which made things difficult.

Daryl eyed the window beside him. It was high but not impossible, though he didn’t think he’d be able to remove the fitted fly screen silently and the drop from window to ground would hurt his already battered body.

It looked like he’d have to bunk down in the bedroom and wait for Rick’s arrival and for when they were all distracted enough that Daryl could slip out.

He didn’t like the thought of leaving Rick to deal with his wife and the other cop on his own but he liked the thought of getting involved even less.

The minutes crawled by and it sounded like the pair weren’t moving beyond what Daryl guessed might be the kitchen. Daryl felt his tension ease at the thought that maybe he’d read the situation wrong, maybe they were friends catching up over coffee.

He could almost believe it if it wasn’t for the memories of all the times he’d walked in on Merle screwing some girl in the public spaces of their small house. It seemed privacy or a need for a bed wasn’t that important when it came to sex, despite what tv and movies made you think.

Daryl waited in silence, blocking his ears to any noise the pair might be making.

When Rick’s police cruiser pulled up to the house Daryl felt a disconcerting and unfamiliar feeling of being glad to see a cop car. He watched as Rick got out of the car and stared at the other cops truck intently.

Daryl crossed the room and eased open the door before moving down the hall with silent steps. At the kitchen doorway he drew up short and cursed in his head. They were in there, he could hear panted breaths and whispered words. Daryl’s gut twisted unpleasantly as he eyed the width of the door and tried not to listen to the noises coming from within. They weren’t loud by any stretch of the imagination but it seemed to ring around the otherwise empty house.

The open space of the doorway was all that kept him from the clear stretch to the front door. He could make it across the space in two steps but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be seen. The light from the kitchen flooded the hall and put him at a disadvantage.

He could wait here or back in the guestroom for Rick to enter the house, though he was taking his sweet time, or he could chance it and make a break for it.

He breathed deep. It was only a couple of steps and Rick was here. He could be out and down the street in minutes, not having to deal with any of this.

He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he stepped into the light.

As if on cue the world went to hell in a heartbeat. The front door opened loudly, the pair in the kitchen jerked apart at the noise and Daryl’s foot landed on the floorboards and he made surprised eye contact with the wide brown eyes of Lori Grimes who let out a shrill shout of surprise.

The cop in the kitchen turned to Daryl in the doorway, hand reaching for and grabbing his gun from the table as he moved and he levelled the weapon at Daryl’s head even as Rick’s footsteps hurried down the hall and he took up the remaining space in the doorway.

The four of them froze and Daryl wondered how the hell he’d ended up in a situation like this: cop at his side, body throbbing with hurt, and gun pointed at him by a half dressed cop and a rumpled looking woman sitting on a kitchen table.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by underacherrytree :)

Rick looked at the tableau he’d found himself in. Daryl’s eyes are wide but his body is poised to fight. Shane stood in the middle of Rick’s kitchen, uniform shirt unbuttoned and belt undone. His holster lay discarded on the kitchen table and his gun was raised steadily at Daryl.

The gold of his necklace gleamed against the stretch of tanned skin exposed by his open shirt. His dark hair was tousled and a light sheen of sweat glistened at his temples and across his collarbones.

He was Shane as Rick had seen him a hundred times before, as they’d grown up together and made it through the academy together. The vision of him had never hurt so badly.

He didn’t want to look at Lori but his eyes strayed to her seemingly of their own accord and the sight of her was like a punch to the guts. Her hands fiddled restlessly with the skirt of her summer dress, settling and resettling the light folds of fabric across her thighs with shaking fingers.

The strap of her bra had slipped down her arm and the vision of it was almost foreign. Lori was always immaculate, always had been. But that slipped strap with the way her tousled hair fell around her pale face, framing the wide brown eyes gleaming with what could be the beginning of tears, struck him as alien. This wasn’t the girl he had met on the first day of Middle School -this was some other Lori.

She sat perched on the edge of the kitchen table. His mind shied away from the sight of her there because he knew it would all too easily be replaced by all the things they could have been doing and he couldn’t hold down his breakfast if he let his mind go there.

“Lower your gun,” Rick gritted out.

Shane’s eyes flickered from him to Daryl but the gun remained in his hand.“What the hell is he doing here?”

Rick cast him an arctic look, though Shane didn’t seem to see why he wasn’t currently entitled to ask these things.“I said lower your gun.”

“Rick, man! What is this piece of shit doing in your house?” Shane stepped forward seemingly propelled by his words as his gun weaved through the air to gesture at Daryl.

At the move Rick’s gun was in his hand and raised at his partner. He felt like he was shaking apart at the seams but his hand was steady and still. The familiar weight of the Python felt like the only thing holding him together and stopping him from flying apart.

Shane stilled instantly at the appearance of Rick’s gun and he seemed to shrink back.

“Fucking tell me this isn’t what it looks like man.” Rick knew his voice sounded desperate and he hated himself for that. Nothing they said would make any of this better, nothing would change their betrayal and it killed him inside.

“Rick-”

“Goddamnit.” He cut off, he couldn’t stand the sound of Shane's voice at the moment, the same voice that had reassured him about his marriage, which had been in his ear since they were kids.

He looked at the man standing in from of him, tall and strong and half-dressed. For the first time in his life he didn’t see an ally, he didn’t see his best friend and brother -he saw a stranger, screwing his wife on Rick's goddamn kitchen table.

His grip tightened on his gun, the solid weight against his palm the only real thing in the world. He kept his aim steady. Shane centred before him and for a split second he saw the shadowed outline of a figure he’d shot at a thousand times down at the range.

He could kill him, one move of his finger, the pull of the trigger and Shane would be hit. Rick had always had good aim, the best at the station.

If he wanted to, he could kill Shane right now and in one and a half seconds he could do the same to Lori. He could see the sequence of movements he would take in his mind as clear as if it was happening.

Would he kill the witness beside him? Himself? Murder-suicide, he’d seen it before. The bloated, lifeless bodies of couples found later by friends, family or neighbours. Their last moments laid out like some sick freeze frame that spoke so clearly of desperation, fury and hurt pride.

The regret always lingering in the room like a physical presence. Suffocating the strangers who stood around and did their jobs; typing it all up in neat files and removing the heartache so the rest of the world can go on unaffected.

But it wouldn’t go on unaffected. Carl would be alone with the knowledge that everyone who has ever loved him is dead. That his dad killed his mum and the closest thing he has to an uncle.

Rick lowered his gun, teeth clenching around a shuddering breath, and closed his eyes against the scene in front of him.

He tried to centre himself before opening his eyes again. His gaze moving from Shane to Lori, lingering on the way the honey yellow light shone through her dark curls and cast shadows across the stretch of her collarbones and throat, shaping her lovely face and catching in her long eyelashes.

In that moment he hated her, hated every second they have had together in the last twenty years, hated the knowledge that she existed. Her eyes were wide and damp with tears that haven’t fallen. He wants her to cry, to become red and splotchy in that way she hates, he wants her to suffer, to have her heart ripped out by familiar hands and to _hurt_ from it.

He hated himself for that, for that flair of ugly, jealous rage that burned through him and made him cruel and violent and everything he’s spent his whole life pretending he wasn’t. He hated her for making him that person, for finally breaking him and showing him that there was something dark inside him, buried deep under his sheriff's badge and easy smile. The dark coil of possessive anger he’s always held back so tightly that he’d almost forgotten it was there entirely.

He turned on his heel and walked down the familiar hallway, seemingly miles longer than it has ever been before. He’s vaguely aware of a shadow moving in his footsteps, shutting the front door behind them where Rick wanted to slam it so hard the wood cracked and the glass on either side shattered.

Firm hands took the keys from him and pushed him into the passenger seat of his cruiser. Which smelt so strongly of Shane because he has sat in this seat beside Rick for years, laughing and cursing and silent with familiarity.

Bile rose in his throat. He rested his head against the car window and reminded himself how to breathe as the car rumbled beneath him, moving through streets he could no longer see.

 

“I, uh, I don’t know where to take you.”

Rick looked up at the voice. Daryl looked strange in the driver’s seat of the cruiser and was visibly uncomfortable being there. His eyes kept darting to the caged backseat and the added controls of the dash that Rick didn’t even notice anymore.

Rick's world expanded to include the world outside the car. They were on the side of the road. The sky blue to the horizon and trees on both sides of them, reaching up tall and straight to the cloudless sky.

The statement seemed strange at first, because there was nowhere to go anymore. His home wasn’t his own anymore and while he should get back to work, the knowledge seemed far off and hazy with unimportance.

He shrugged, slumping into the seat and looked out the windshield as he rested his head against the headrest with nothing to say.

Daryl made a grumbling noise but started the engine again. He pulled out onto the road and made a U-turn in the middle of the empty tarmac. _Illegal,_ Rick’s mind murmured as it always did when he was in his uniform.  

They drove down the road for a few moments before they hit the outskirts of town and the small motel that sits just inside. Rick had never stayed there but he’d passed it hundreds of times. On one memorable occasion, he had been called there on a Monday for a noise complaint at two in the morning. That was years ago, when he and Shane had been rookies.

When it didn’t look like Rick was going to move Daryl huffed into the car and rifled through the middle console, pulling out Rick’s wallet and exiting the car.

Rick watched as he walked across the car park and disappeared into the little office. He came back out again a little while later, his face dark with anger and a key clutched in his hand.

Rick got out of the car and met him halfway and followed like a scolded dog as Daryl lead him to one of the rooms. It was small, but perfectly nice. It showed signs of wear but was obviously cleaned regularly and the bed looked solid.

Rick sat down on the hard backed chair by the door and rested his head in his hands. Daryl closed the door with a thud before moving to stand awkwardly in the centre of the room. He looked at Rick, narrow eyes assessing him.

“Should you go back to work?” Rick looked down at his uniform and sighed. He didn’t have the energy to go back and pretend nothing was wrong and he certainly didn’t want to risk running into Shane right now.

A cruel voice in the back of his mind wondered if Shane had even bothered to go to work, or if he’d just gone back to screwing Rick’s wife. He shook that thought off and dug his phone out of his pocket. His hands weren’t shaking as he punched in the number for the station and some part of him thought that they should be, that he should be showing this more than he was.

One glance at Daryl said he was probably showing it more than he realised. The other man was watching him with wary eyes, gaze darting from Rick to the door as though planning his escape. For some reason that made Rick smile.

The call was picked up and Rick watched Daryl as he spoke, claiming a family emergency and fending off the concerned enquires from Tracy.

Daryl was pacing the small room, from bathroom door to bed to chunky old television on the dresser. He looked tense and uncomfortable, shooting looks at Rick each time he reached another point in his circuit of the room.

Rick shut off the call and let his hand fall to his lap. Daryl stopped moving at the bathroom door and stood there, hands hanging by his side and head ducked so his face was obscured by his hair. He looked as strange in this room as he did in Rick’s guest room. He wondered absently if it was even possible for Daryl to look comfortable in a house or whether he belonged outside, living like a wild man in the woods and shunning society.

So far, everywhere he’d seen him, besides the worn front yard of his own house, made him look somehow out of place. Too large and too rough, made of jagged edges that didn’t fit the smoothed down lines of society.

“Thank you,” Rick rumbled, though he had no idea what he was thanking him for. Thanks for making me aware of the affair? Thanks for driving me here? Thanks for being here? Thanks for giving me something else to think about? Daryl looked similarly unsure but shrugged at him.

His winced at the movement. Rick remembered with shocking clarity the mess of his torso and the wounds he’d cleaned. He lurched up from his seat, moving towards Daryl before he really gave it much thought. Daryl shifted back at the approach and Rick stopped, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room. “How are you feeling?”

Daryl looked at him like he was crazy. His expression was eloquent as he eyed Rick and the room around them. “I’m fine,” he said it like he was talking to a particularly thick child.

Rick felt himself blush. “How are your injuries? Are they healing alright?”

Daryl blinked at him in that way he does sometimes, confused and wary, not understanding that concern can be freely given. He raised a hand and pressed it against his ribs as though to check that they did in fact still hurt, before giving Rick a curt nod.

Rick nodded back. He accepted his assessment though his fingers twitched to see, to reassure himself that he was okay, real and solid and alive.

They stood like that in the cool dim light of the motel room. Sunshine poured into the room in a column of light which caught the floating motes of dust as they danced through the air.

Rick imagined that they looked strange, the pair of them standing in a small room. Rick still in his sheriff’s uniform, shirt neatly pressed and badge bright on his chest standing opposite Daryl. His worn clothes were like armour against the world. His bruised and bandaged, tanned and scarred arms were exposed, looking every bit the tough man, ready for a fight.

“Fuck this, I’m hungry. You coming?” Daryl stalked out of the room.

Rick watched him go in surprise. The room suddenly felt large and empty without his prowling presence.

With numb fingers Rick undid his uniform shirt, laying it carefully over the end of the bed and let his hands rest on his gun belt. It wasn’t really something he could just walk around with without his uniform on. With a quick look out the window to Daryl’s retreating back, he unbuckled the belt and shoved it under the pillow. He turned his back on it and didn't let his thoughts dwell on how uncomfortable he was leaving it here.

He locked the room and hurried his pace to catch up with Daryl. For a wounded man he walked fast and had made it some way down the street before Rick caught up with him.

Daryl slowed his pace when Rick closed the distance between them and they walked in silence together.

Rick felt exposed in his undershirt and uniform pants. He so rarely went about without the full uniform immaculately presented that this aberration was disconcerting.

His temper was still raw from the confrontation with Lori and Shane. He felt like his skin was two sizes too small and had electric currents under the surface. It made him twitchy and uncomfortable.

Daryl, who usually seemed to weave and bob, swaying in preparation of movement even as he stood still, seemed as solid as a rock in contrast.

Rick clung almost desperately to his presence. As though remaining near him would stop Rick from being swept out into the abyss of his rolling emotions.

 

They ended up eating wings in a corner booth of some chain steakhouse not too far from the motel.

Rick picked at the wings they shared. He ate because it was in front of him not because he was hungry. The food had no real taste but it occupied his mouth and stopped the furious hateful things he felt welling up in his throat.

His gut rolled with a mix of emotions and the vision of Lori and Shane swam in front of his eyes at random intervals to torment him.

Daryl was a warm presence down his side. The was booth too small for their large frames but Rick didn’t mind. The contact was reassuring somehow, a physical reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in the world, that there was more people than the two closest to him.

Daryl ate with vigour, pulling the meat from the bones and shoving it into his mouth. He sucked the juice and sauce from his fingers loudly in a vulgar and unthinking way. The older couple to their left look on with wide shocked eyes and displeased twists to their mouths. Their reactions and Daryl’s obliviousness made Rick smile.

Sitting in companionable silence with the occasional comment drifting between them was comforting.

He supposed it should have given him too much opportunity to dwell on the shit storm his life has become in two hours. But for whatever reason the reassuring presence of the other man at his side was distraction enough.

Shane would talk almost constantly, filling the space and telling ever more elaborate tales to keep the space between them filled. Lori would chat away about the school council or something she’s heard at the shops that day or even complain about how uncommunicative Rick was being. Anything to avoid silence.

Rick found he liked the quiet. He observed his new friend and the way he surveyed the room every now and again. As though assessing any dangers. Still, he managed to not notice how the waitress had cocked her hip and smiled invitingly whenever she was near the table.

She was too young for him, looked to be about sixteen. So Rick supposed it was good Daryl didn’t notice. It was a change from smiling fondly and rolling his eyes as Shane flirted outrageously and then having to sit through a graphic retelling of their exploits.

His stomach clenched unpleasantly and he felt bile rise in his throat. He wondered if Shane had ever shared his exploits with Lori with Rick or any of the other guys. Shane loved to tell a story and it seemed likely that he had, even obliquely.

He set his wing down and breathed deeply. He concentrated on breathing through the wave of fury and nausea that rolled through him. When he glanced up Daryl was watching him closely, expression blank but eyes sharp and watchful.

He felt so angry, furious even, but it didn’t feel right to be angry at either of them and he knew he should. A small voice in the back of his mind kept whispering that it wasn’t what it seemed like, that he didn’t know everything. Maybe they could work through this and it was all going to be okay.

The larger, angrier part of his brain flashed images of them together across his mind. Shane with his shirt undone and sweat damp skin. Lori mussed and flustered on their kitchen table.

He seemed to be able to remember, in exquisite detail, all the times he’d seen them laughing together, talking, in the same room without him there.

He tried to form words for all of this, for the emotions that flared and died inside him. He wanted to give shape to it all and lay it on the table where it would suddenly all make sense and not hurt so badly.

He looked at Daryl chewing absently on a piece of chicken and opened his mouth to give voice to it. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Daryl didn’t have an answer for him but his attention was on Rick and that was some small level of comfort.

 

They took their time eating. Each of them lost in their own thoughts and observing those around them getting on with their lives. Rick distracted himself as best he could by occasionally murmuring an observation to Daryl, just to see his lips quirk in acknowledgement and occasionally amusement.

An hour after they’d arrived they left together, shoulders bumping companionably as they walked back to the motel in silence, Rick felt for one brief moment so devastatingly thankful for Daryl that he didn’t know what to do with it and he was left standing beside his car staring at the other man. He knew Daryl wouldn’t appreciate any kind of soppy sentiment and would be uncomfortable if Rick heaped thanks upon him like he wanted to in that moment. He stuck his hands in his pocked and scuffed his booted foot against the ground.

“Your ribs okay?” he finally asked.

Daryl nodded carefully, expression closed off.

“I’ll give you a ride somewhere.”

“Home.”

“I don’t like the thought of you going back there.” Daryl looked like he wanted to get pissed off but held himself back. He brought a hand up to chew at his cuticle instead and licked his lips.

“Don’t matter.”

There was nothing Rick could do about it. Daryl was a grown man and he would walk if he had to. Rick got the feeling Daryl could walk right out of Rick’s life if he pushed this too hard. And at that moment, he couldn’t stand the thought of the other man doing that.

So he climbed into the car. He grit his teeth against saying anything when Daryl eased himself down into the seat with care. One hand rested protectively in front of his abdomen in a way Rick didn’t think he knew he was doing.

 

The drive was done in the same companionable silence they had developed. When the car pulled off down the long gravel driveway Rick set his jaw and forced himself not to glance at his companion until he had stopped the car.

Rick looked at the squat house and then to its owner who sat next to him. Daryl's head was bowed and his attention was on picking at the scabs on his knuckles.

“You alright?”

Daryl scoffed lightly and rolled his eyes to look at Rick.“Yeah. You?”

Rick nodded, eyes flicking out the window and back again to see Daryl’s unimpressed looked. Rick smiled into the late sunlight, an unhappy twist to his mouth, and remained silent.

Daryl bobbed his head in a nod to that before pushing open the door with a rough shove. He levered himself out, one hand on the door, the other pressing protectively against his ribs. Once he was standing he let his ribs go. He set his shoulders and moved away from the car. His pain and injuries barely revealed though his posture.

Rick watched from the drivers’ seat as Daryl crossed the yard. Merle got up from where he was crouched next to his motorbike and met him half way. Rick was tense as he watched them, his grip tight around the steering wheel and eyes fixed on the pair in front of him.

Merle stepped in close, forcing himself into Daryl’s personal space. He tried to make him step backward but Daryl didn't. He pulled up short but held his ground.

“What are you doing with the cop?” Merle’s low voice just reached Rick where he sat.

Rick kept his face hard and eyes steady as Merle stared at him through the windshield with narrowed eyes.

Dixon’s didn’t seem to do anything quietly except hunting.

“Nothin’.” Daryl didn’t look where Merle was staring, he kept his chin up and eyes focused on his brother. “What’s it matter to you?”

His body was tense, like he’s prepared to take a hit and the thought made Rick’s throat tight.

That caught Merle’s attention and his focus shifted back to Daryl, summarily dismissing Rick.“You’re my little brother, I got to look out for you.”

“You weren’t looking out for me Saturday.”

Rick watched as Merle’s lip curled in a snarl and he felt hatred boil in his veins.

 “So you ran to the cop?” he threw a scornful look in Rick’s direction and pressed in closer to his brother. Daryl didn’t say anything and Rick couldn’t see his face from where he sat but his shoulders squared up and he tilted his chin up. Merle bared his teeth. “You his bitch now?”

“I ain’t nobody's bitch.” Daryl spat out, shouldering past his brother and into the squat brown house.

Merle watched his brother go before turning narrowed, calclating eyes to Rick. Rick met his gaze coolly, allowing the anger and threat he felt towards the other man show on his face, his own gaze narrowed.

Merle sneered before letting out a single, loud, whooping laugh into the empty yard which choked off into a low cackle. His voice echoed off the surrounding trees and rang through the yard.

Rick shook his head and reversed the car. He pulled out into the road and drove down the long dirt track that lead to the house.

The cruiser felt crowded with the people that weren’t there. He grit his teeth and forced his mind to remain blank, despite how it wanted to jump from the two Dixon’s to Lori and Shane before dancing around the thoughts of Rodrigues and back again. It was all cyclical, each thought lead to another and his head felt heavy with them.

He drove on. He headed back to the neat motel room it looked like he’ll be calling home, at least for tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's unbeta'd so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> SPOILER- there's a bit of non Rickyl m/m in this one
> 
> enjoy!

Daryl had settled himself into the furthest stool at Clarkson’s Bar with a beer when Joe ambled through the doors and began making his way through the crowd, zeroing in on Daryl.

Daryl watched his progress across the room, pausing only to order a drink and nod to the empty stool to Daryl’s right.

Joe grunted as he heaved himself onto the stool and again at the barman when he set a tumbler of whiskey down in front of him. Daryl watched through his fringe as Joe took a deep swallow of the amber liquid, savouring the mouthful before smacking his lips obnoxiously in satisfaction.

Joe had a way of making himself at home no matter where he was. He sat comfortably on the tall stool and surveyed the room with sharp eyes before letting them settling on Daryl. He nodded a greeting and Daryl nodded back as he took a sip of his beer, the cool bite of the drink soothed his nerves and refreshing after the heat of the day, he savoured it.

The bar was warm, stuffy and familiar. There was only the occasional burst of cool air and momentary relief from the heat from the single AC towards the back of the bar.

Daryl had never picked one bar in particular to call his favourite, Merle had been kicked out or banned from most of the local bars so Daryl had gotten used to getting comfortable wherever he was.

Clarkson’s was one of his more familiar haunts, Merle never having been kicked out despite how much trouble they caused over the years.

Joe broke the quiet, eyes surveying the room absently. 

“You ever give much thought to what makes a man who he is?” Daryl looked over at him but Joe didn’t seem to be paying him much attention as he continued, “What makes a good man different to a bad man? Who decides which is which?” he slanted his eyes to Daryl, obviously expecting a response. Daryl didn’t know where he was going with this, Joe always seemed to be angling for something but Daryl was at a loss for what. Merle seemed to know, but he wasn’t sharing. Daryl shook his head. “I never did either, we do what we do to survive.” Another sip of his drink before he sighed, “We create order to make sense of the chaos, than we get frustrated because nature don’t fall into line with it.” 

“I ain’t no college kid,” Daryl interjected. “An unexamined life is fine by me.” Joe was looking at him steadily, sharp eyes focused solely on Daryl.

“You’re not curious?” Daryl shrugged one shoulder and turned back to his beer, he could feel Joe’s gaze on him like a physical thing.

“People do what they do, nature or nurture? That shit?” he flicked his hand dismissively.  “Don’t care.” He glanced at Joe who was nodding his head contemplatively.

Daryl wondered what Joe wanted to say to him, their past few conversations had seemed too pointed to be just casual conversation and not knowing made him twitchy. Joe cleared his throat loudly and spoke again.

“What propels a man in my opinion is animal impulse. We make rules to stop shit going Darwin but that’s just keeping shit back, we’re all animals in the end.”

There was a high burst of laughter and voices across the room and Daryl turned his attention to the small group walking through the door. Joe had noticed them too and he gestured towards them with his glass as they settled at the far end of the bar. “Just take a look at that -lambs in a den of wolves, modern life has made them dumb and stupid. No survival instinct.” He swallowed the last mouthful and dropped the glass onto the counter, he smacked his lips once more and got up from his stool, fishing in his pocket for a few notes which he tossed beside the glass. He leant close to Daryl, eyes fixed on the small group still. “Men like you and me? We’re the survivors in the end. Truth is, once the obstacles are out of our way, we’re free to be who we’re meant to be.” Daryl watched as Joe made his way across the bar and out the door without a backward glance.

Daryl watched him go before shifting his attention to the small group that had settled down and were talking loudly as they looked over the drinks menu, like there was anything more on it than a few liquors and beers. Daryl took a swallow of his beer and watched.

All three of them were clean looking and young, fresh faces and shiny hair like people in magazines and on the TV. They looked around with wide eyes and Daryl could smell the nerves on them over the scent of old alcohol, sweat and bar nuts.

They weren’t from around here, they didn’t have the look about them. The kid at the end kept glancing around, letting his eyes linger where they shouldn’t. He talked funny, all clipped words and elongated vowels where there shouldn’t be, voice bouncing around the room like he didn’t know how to make it not carry.

He wasn’t dressed right, a light coloured polo shirt and knee length shorts. Daryl watched him curiously, he was with a guy and a girl. The way they were going at it said they were a couple.

He cast a quick look around the room, it was a quiet night, just some truckers and locals drinking quietly. The rowdier crowd wasn’t in yet, might not be in at all tonight and Joe hadn’t seemed like he was coming back with his boys.

It was probably best for these kids that they weren’t here on a Friday, or when Merle and his friends were here.

The girl was pretty and young, she clung to her boyfriends’ hand even as her eyes lingered on the other people at the bar in a way that could draw unwanted attention. The two boys were scrawny and soft looking, they wouldn’t last a second in a fight by the look of it. Merle would say they looked like fags. Real men didn’t look like that, all wide eyed, clear skin and soft looking clothes.

Daryl took a sip from his beer and pretended he didn’t see the way the boy tried to hide he was looking in Daryl’s direction. His head was ducked and he was shooting glances at Daryl through lowered lashes, like he thought he was being subtle or something. He was damn lucky nobody else was paying him any attention, looking at a guy like that would get you beat faster than you could say boo in some places.

Daryl looked directly at him when he next looked over. He glowered but the kid just flushed rosy and let his eyes travel down the length of Daryl’s body that he could see. Daryl rolled his lip back in a sneer to get him to stop and the boy quickly looked away.

Daryl took another swallow of his drink and wondered to himself what Rick would do if he was here. He’d probably laugh, that nice gentle chuckle he had and maybe lean in close, his warmth all down Daryl side but not imposing, never touching more than what could be accidental, just an absentminded familiarity. He’d say something in Daryl’s ear though, something innocuous about the kid, his breath all warm down Daryl’s neck.

Rick did that shit all the time, didn’t seem to realise he was doing it and never minded that sometimes Daryl shifted away.

He’d say something about the kid but it wouldn’t be cruel. Merle would say something like ‘ _That goddamn faggot’s got his eye on you Darlene’_ because he knew how Daryl hated being called that, then he’d laugh like a hyena and let the whole room look at them. He didn’t see the point in keeping his voice low, if someone didn’t want to hear what he had to say they shouldn’t be listening.

Rick would say something else, voice lowered and amused, a joke just for the two of them. He wouldn’t call the kid out on looking too long but he’d say something about how out of place they looked or something like that.

Daryl played with his beer, fingers trailing over the cool glass surface, running his fingers through the dribbles of condensation and looked deep into the amber liquid.

If Rick was here the kid wouldn’t be looking at Daryl, he’d be too busy eying the stubble along Rick’s jaw, the sharp angles of his face and long lines of his body. The way clothes hung on him nicely, fitted and worn looking, he didn’t look prissy like the kids at the end of the bar, but he didn’t look worn and dirty like Daryl, he was somewhere in the middle. Nice looking.

Dumb kid wouldn’t notice the sharpness of his eyes though or his steady large hands. He’d probably look at the two of them and think Rick was the less dangerous one. That just proved how stupid this city kid was.

Rick’s hair was growing wilder, curling around the ends and he let his stubble show more often than he probably used to, but for all of that he still looked pretty clean cut, looked kind with the laugh lines around his eyes and his easy smile and low voice. But Daryl could see the steel beneath, had seen him level a gun with the steady hands of an expert just days ago, had seen the way he moved which said he’d fight with the quick sharp jabs on an experienced fighter. He saw the way he watched people with sharp eyes, aware at all times of every threat in the room.

Daryl was a good fighter, he was scrappy and knew how to take a hit and keep going. He knew how to get up when he’d been forced down and push back with his head down and fists fast till there was no threat left, but he didn’t have the cool calculation of Rick. His steady eyes and still body made Daryl shiver just thinking about it.

He made himself forget about the kid eyeing him up from across the room. Finished his drink and had another as he played with the coaster, folding it into shapes and ignoring the rest of the world until he downed the last of his beer and stood up.

He threw some crumpled notes beside his glass before moving through the bar towards the back door and out into the heavy heat of the back alley. He breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the dumpster, dirt and the late night air.

Daryl paused in the back alley to take a piss against the side of the building, weight resting against the wall and his eyes vacant as he emptied his bladder.

The back door screeched open as he was finishing up. He shook his dick and glanced over.

The kid from the bar was standing in the doorway, door closing with a thud behind him as he cast a furtive look down the alley.

Daryl zipped up and turned around taking a step away from the puddle of warm piss at his feet and patting his pockets absently for his carton of cigarettes as he watched the kid.

The kid turned to him at the deliberate noise of Daryl’s boots scuffing the ground and he looked at once excited and nervous. Daryl raised his eyebrows in question before moving slowly to the mouth of the alley.

“Hey! Ah, mister?” Daryl’s eyebrows rose even higher and he gave the kid a disbelieving look as he came to a halt. The boy blushed, reading the incredulity on Daryl’s face. “I mean, hey.” He cocked his hip and smiled in a way he no doubt thought was charming, affecting a confident persona which made Daryl want to roll his eyes.

When Daryl didn’t say anything the kids smile faltered but he pushed on. “You’re the strong silent type. I get that. I mean, I’m obviously not but whatever.” He took a breath “So I wanted to introduce myself inside, but you left pretty early so I figured-“

“Is there a fucking point to this?”

“I was just wondering if,” he fumbled here and Daryl narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “I was wondering if you were interested in messing around, I mean, no offense if you’re not but-” Daryl cut in again.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m offering you a blowjob.” The kid pushed on, seemingly oblivious to the dumbstruck look on Daryl’s face.

“I ain’t no faggot.” Daryl growled.

“No! Obviously!” the kid rushed to reassure, obviously hearing the threat in Daryl’s voice. “But a blow jobs a blow job, right?” he finished with an awkward half laugh. Daryl wondered why he wasn’t walking away. There was a small corner of his mind that was attracted to the idea, the offer of sex that everyone else seemed so obsessed by, the chance to test it out, to see what the fuss was all about.

“How are you not dead offering shit like that? Are you stupid or something?” He asked, because surely he didn’t go around asking every man he saw.

Daryl wondered if there was something about him which suggested he was into that kind of shit, if the whole world looked at him and just assumed he wanted guys to suck him off in back alleys, wondered if it was the same thing that made people call him pretty, which made Merle call him Darlene sometimes.

“Do you want a blowjob or not?” the kid huffed, seemingly losing patience with him and forgetting to be wary. “I’m leaving tomorrow, I won’t tell anybody. Nobody will know about it.”

“What do you get out of it?” Daryl asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The kid looked at Daryl like he was stupid and Daryl glared back. He gulped and glanced away from Daryl, suddenly remembering he was alone in an alley with an unpredictable man who wasn’t acting very nice.

“I like doing it, and you’re like, seriously hot so it’s definitely no hardship.”

Daryl stared at him confused. The kid was alright looking, he had a nice mouth, plump red lips and a wide jaw. He didn’t look like he was lying, though the thought of doing _that,_ and liking it seemed too weird for Daryl to really believe. What he’d seen, flashes of porn when Merle was an ass and put it on the tv or glimpses of pictures in his brothers magazines didn’t look like a nice thing for the person doing it, it looked uncomfortable and kind of violent.

‘ _Nothing better in this world little brother, a nice wet mouth around your dick, there’s nothing better.’_ Merles voice rose in the back of his head and Daryl swallowed, glancing around the dirty alley. He could take the kid in a fight no problem, could probably knock him out with one well aimed hit if he so wanted to.

If he was leaving in the morning nobody would hear about it, hell nobody would believe the kid anyway. Nobody would take the world of some city faggot over a Dixon, not about shit like this. Not letting himself think about it any longer Daryl gave a jerky nod and glared at the kid.

The kid’s eyes widened for a second before he smiled. Without saying a word he crossed the space between them and sunk to his knees, reaching forward.

Daryl swayed away with a jerk, pulling back from the unfamiliar hands so near the bruises that still remained across his body.

He breathed through gritted teeth, his hands resting on his own buckle, the weight and familiarity was reassuring and he breathed deep, letting his grip loosen and undid his pants before he could overthink it.

He felt the kid’s eyes on him and he purposely didn’t look down at him, focusing on the opposite wall and the familiar feeling of his belt and worn jeans.

With his dick out he felt uncomfortably vulnerable, this wasn’t like taking a piss, he was exposed and there was someone really close to him. The kid took the initiative and grasped hold of his flaccid dick with sure but careful hands.

Daryl inhaled sharply. His hands were soft, alien on the sensitive skin of his dick but they moved like they knew what they were doing, stroking the thin skin with firm strokes and rubbing under the head. Daryl felt himself growing hard and he blushed deeply into the darkness of the alley.

He wanted to squirm away but before he had the chance to do so there was a hot wet heat around the head of his dick. His head jerked down and he stared at the way the kid’s mouth stretched around his dick, lips curled in and skin pulled tight around his mouth. There was the flicker of a tongue across the slit of his dick and Daryl’s brain shut off.

Each movement of the kid’s mouth across him sent licks of electricity through Daryl’s entire body. He squeezed his eyes closed and lost himself in hot wet suction, warmth around his dick and the firm strokes of a hand around the part of him not currently buried in some city kids mouth. There was the feeling of another hand kneading and tugging gently at his balls and Daryl felt his breath leave him in a quick hard gasp of air.

The kid was making noises around his dick, slurps and grunts punctuated his actions and made Daryl’s skin feel hot and tight.

Daryl knew he was making noises too, low aborted grunts which punched out of him even as he bit them back, embarrassed by the sounds. He had a brief panic over how he must look, pants down around his thighs leant against the dirty back wall of Clarkson’s Bar, face flushed and sweaty, panting and grunting into the night, hair clinging to his damp face and some kid on his knees in front of him.

With a gasp he came, the kid choked at the unexpected flood of fluid into his mouth but Daryl didn’t care, his head lolled back and he bared his teeth to the sky as he breathed deep.

The kid pulled back and Daryl pulled at his pants even as his heart raced in his chest. He watched as the kid wiping at a smear of come on his cheek and Daryl’s brain felt like it short circuited at the sight.

His come was splattered over the plane of his cheek, lips looking swollen and red, slick looking and glistening in the moonlight. When Daryl followed the line of his body down he saw the prominent bulge of the kids groin.

Daryl looked away, fixing his belt and pushing off from the wall. Fumbling in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes and ignored the kid on the ground.

His skin was buzzing, his heart still racing and his lungs felt tight and he craved the sharp bite of nicotine.

“No thank you?” the kid said from the ground, sounding smug. Daryl looked down at him, the pleased look on his face and the way his lips still glistened slightly.

Daryl spat at the ground beside the kid, clearing his mouth and sneered at him with his neat clothes and shiny hair.

“Thanks.” He drawled sarcastically and moved off lighting his cigarette as he did, not looking back as he headed for his beat up truck.

When he was seated in the cab he rested his hands on the wheel before taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

He was shaking and his hands were sweating but there was a feeling in his stomach, bubbly and bright, his skin buzzed pleasantly and there was a tenderness to his groin which he liked.

He smiled down at the wheel as he pulled the truck out, biting his lip to stop the smile spreading wider across his face like it wanted to. He felt electric somehow, he felt good.

 

The good feeling lasted until he was at the turn off to his house and he saw the flicker of blue and red lights through the trees. He sped up and pulled into his front yard with a bloom of road dust.

There were two cop cars parked haphazard across the front yard, caging the property in. Daryl watched from the cab of the car as Merle was forced out of the house.

Merle was kicking up a storm, throwing his weight around to loosen their hold on him, swinging his head whenever one of them got close enough for him to try and land a blow. Daryl listened to his brothers shouts as he threw himself out of the car and across the yard.

Merle was hollering, shouting abuse and cursing the two cops that had him by the arms, his hands cuffed awkwardly behind him. Another cop followed behind, his gun in his hand but down. Daryl’s eyes shot around the property searching for Rick but he didn’t see him anywhere.

“Hey!” his own voice came out a rasping shout which echoed around the yard. “Hey, you turd, let him go!” Daryl shouted when one of the cops tugged at Merle’s arm to throw him off balance.

Merle bared his teeth at the cop and set his weight, resisting any further movement.

A fourth cop got between Daryl and his brother, hands up and shouting like Daryl was some kind of horse that needed herding. Daryl was preparing himself to beat the shit out of him and get to his brother when Merle’s voice broke through.

“Don’t you touch him! He ain’t got nothing to do with this!” It looked like Merle had redoubled his efforts to get free and had redirected the small group towards Daryl, despite the group’s resistance. “Daryl.” Merle growled.

Daryl knew that tone, it was Merle telling him not to do anything stupid and to get the hell out of here.

Daryl forced himself back, bobbing on the balls of his feet ready to run if he had to. If Merle needed him out of lockup then he’d do what he could to stay out.

His eyes darted around the place again but he still didn’t see Rick anywhere, not even his dick partner. Anger coiled in his stomach, a sick burn of betrayal and fury.

The cop in front of him was talking but Daryl wasn’t paying attention, eyes narrowed as he watched his brother get man handled into the back of a cop car. He was snapping and snarling like a wild animal and the blue and red flashing lights painted him as something alien and dangerous.

The cop stepped closer to Daryl and he snarled at him in warning and held himself like he’d seen Merle do a thousand times, made himself large and imposing, letting his face settle into an ugly, dangerous expression so the cop would back off.

He did, hands up placating. He didn’t do it like Rick who always looked so damn calm and in control when he was doing it, no, this cop looked scared, like Daryl had a gun to his head.

Daryl scoffed, turning away from the cop and towards the house. He paused in the doorway and watched as the car pulled away and moved down the road.

It was too dark to see more than the outline of Merle in the backseat, a black blob against the dark interior. His gut rolled as he watched the car disappear down the road with his brother inside.

Two officers remained at his house, they had drifted together and were looking towards Daryl and the house. He narrowed his eyes in warning before slamming the door shut and rested his weight against it, breathing fast as his hands shook at his sides.

There was the murmur of voices on the other side of the door and Daryl braced himself for their intrusion. After a moment the voices stopped and there was silence before the sound of car doors opening and closing and a car pulling away.

Daryl closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. He sunk to the ground, knees up and head rested against the battered door as he stared into the darkened house.

As his eyes adjusted he saw evidence of the fight, there was crap knocked onto the floor, a side table on its side and a crack on the far wall.

Daryl closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the woods and cicadas outside, trying to calm the angry waves that washed over him.   


	9. Chapter 9

Rick was late, he’d spent longer than he realised watching how the light changed against the rough discoloured curtains that hung in front of the windows. He’d been watching them since the first shadows of pre-dawn light had shifted.

Tracy greeted him cheerfully from the front counter.

“Have you heard? They arrested someone for the murder.” There was only one murder on the books at the moment.

“What?” Tracy’s eyes brightened at getting to share the news.

“Yeah, Kendel arrested Dixon last night.”

“Dixon?” he knew his voice was sharper than he’d meant it to be by the widening of Tracy’s eyes.

“Yeah, Merle Dixon. You had him fingered for that too didn’t you?” Rick didn’t answer, just pushed through to the squad room and through to the lockers without looking at anyone.

He took a moment to rest his forehead against the cool metal of his locker and breathe in the familiar musky scent of the room and tried to sort his mind from the chaos that had started buzzing in his head with the news.

There was the sound of booted feet on the marked tiles and Rick knew in the core of him who it was. He breathed out loudly and rested his arms on either side of the locker, letting them take his weight so they wouldn’t start swinging no matter how much he wanted to.

“You heard about Kendel?” Shane’s voice seemed to echo off the tiled surfaces. Rick breathed slowly and glared at the flat grey paint on his locker.

“It’s a bullshit arrest.”

“Dixon’s scum.”

“But I don’t think he did this.” he turned and faced Shane. “Do you seriously think this arrest will hold?” Shane shrugged casually, arms loose at his side. “I’m going to talk to the sheriff.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Throw me a bone here man, that’s a shitty move and you know it.” Shanes eyes narrowed and he cocked his head like a though had just come to him. “Is this about the brother?” he sounded like he didn’t know whether to be disgusted or amused. “People have noticed you know, you spending so much time with a no good redneck. There’s been talk.”

“You don’t have any right to talk about my choices.” His voice came out low and dangerous and Shane resettled his weigh and raised his chin. Rick laughed, an unamused sound and rolled his eyes at his partner, this wasn’t about the arrest and he’d walked headlong into this. “That’s what you want isn’t it? Deuce it out. That’s why you came in here.”

Rick shook his head and set his jaw as he moved towards the door. He knew if he started he wasn’t going to stop and he didn’t want to get into this here, didn’t want to ruin the illusion he clung to that the whole station, the whole town might not know his business.

Shane blocked his path with a hand to his chest and Rick felt his hands clench into fists. “Why?” Rick said, the question escaping through clenched teeth.

Shanes hand retreated and he ducked his head, looking away. Rick turned so they were pressed chest to chest in the tight space between the lockers, pushing forward with his weight so Shane had to take a step back.

He moved three paces backwards and couldn’t meet Rick’s gaze.

Rick kept his voice a low hiss, he didn’t think he could get any louder without exploding. “Screw my wife.” He took a step forward, “Have my child, _MY_ child,call you daddy? Is that what you want?” Shane was breathing like a bull and the tension between them was enough to choke on.

Shane straightened his posture, standing at his full height and met Rick’s eyes head one. His dark eyes were cold and bright and had no love, no amusement, no kindness in them. They looked foreign, like they didn’t belong to the man he’d known most of his life.

Shane’s voice wasn’t the roar Rick was expecting, the bold anger he was familiar with.

“I’m a better father than you Rick.” A shiver of hatred ran down Rick’s spine to coil like sickness in his gut, he barely recognised the man in front of him. “I’m better for Lori than you man, because I’m a better _man_ than you.” it rang with sincerity and Rick felt the blow like a physical thing. He was back in the kitchen, and it was like the pair hadn’t been interrupted, that interruption didn’t matter because Shane was a better _man._ “You got a bored woman. You got a weak boy.”

Rick threw a punch and received a blow to the head from Shane’s reflexive head-butt.

Shane was a better fighter than him, had always been. He liked fighting, he knew how to throw his weight around, how to use his bulk and his surroundings, but his weight made him slow and that was the only reason Rick ever stood a chance in a fight against him. Rick was fast, he wasn’t as strong but he knew how to make a hit hurt and how to keep coming back.

He got in a few kidney punches and felt them impact, before, with a shout like a roar, Shane took him to the ground.

They bounced off one of the benches and Rick took the hit so he could land a solid punch to Shane’s face, splitting his lip with a splash of blood.

Shane’s necklace came loose from his shirt and glittered in the florescent lighting. Rick hated it, hated that gold chain which had hung from his friends neck since they were young and stupid, young and innocent.  

He felt his nails catch on flesh as he grasped for it and a curl of exhilaration shot through him at the thought of tearing it from around his neck. He was pulled away from behind before he could grab it properly and he felt the heavy chain slip through his fingers.

Shane was being pulled away as well and there was shouting and raised voices echoing off the tiled walls.

Rick pulled away from the arms holding him and marched through the crowd into the main squad room. It seemed like everyone in the damn station was piled into the small room and pouring out the entrance. He pushed through them all until he could breath.

He stood, trying to catch his breath. When he turned he saw Shane emerge from the crowd, shaking off hands which tried to hold him back.

Rick watched him pacing back and forth like a caged animal through the gaps in the bodies that insinuated themselves between them.

“Grimes! Walsh! In here, _now!_ ”

 

Sheriff Bronson was a thickset man some years Rick’s senior. He’d been voted as sheriff for the last three elections and was comfortable in his job.

Rick liked to think he had a good relationship with the man, he respected him and liked to think that before today, he’d had that respect returned.

Bronson looked angrier than Rick had ever seen him. He’s spent many of his last few years cooling tensions and diffusing situations after Shane had stepped too far into belligerence or downright disrespect, but even then Rick had never seen Bronson this angry.

Bronson threw himself down into his chair behind his desk and squeezed angrily at a foam ball he grabbed off the desktop. With a grunt he threw it across the room where it bounced off a wall, rattling a framed photo of the sheriff and his fishing buddy.

”Do I look like a goddamn school teacher to you?” he leant forward and rested his balled fists on the paperwork in front of him. “I don’t give a shit whose fault this is. You are grown fucking men, you are _police officers_. I won’t have you fighting over whatever bullshit reason-” He stopped himself when he found his voice raising into an angry bellow, taking slow measured breaths and visibly collecting himself. “Walsh, you’re with Peterson, get the hell out of my office.” Shane hesitated for only a moment before all but jumping out of his chair and across the room, closing the door behind him.

They should have both been suspended or at the very least chained to a desk for the foreseeable future. Rick knew they’d been short staffed and he wondered if it really was as bad as that.

Bronson seemed mildly calmer with Shane gone, he seemed exhausted more than angry with the two of them alone in the room.

“Grimes, I expect better than this from you. You’re my best officer.” He paused to allow the weight of his disappointment to settle between them and to allow Rick a moment to explain. When Rick didn’t say anything he sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Parrish is your new partner.”

“I don’t need a partner.”

“You goddamn do, and you’re getting one.” His anger sparked briefly before settling back down. “Parrish is a good kid.” He offered.

Rick took that as permission to leave. He thanked the sheriff and left, he felt the weight of Bronson’s gaze on him until he was through the door.

The moment he was greeted with the scrutiny of his fellow officers and the uncomfortable air of the squad room he almost wished he was back in the small room with Bronson’s weighty disappointment.

 

 

Parrish found him twenty minutes later outside, leaning against the side of the building, eyes closed and hands clasped around the mug of coffee he had no intention of drinking.

The rim was chipped from where Carl, aged eight, had tried to make him a drink one time and knocked the pot against the rim. The small flake of white against the dark blue enamel was as familiar to him as his own name.

The scuff of Parrish’s polished shoes alerted Rick to his approach and he cracked open an eye to watch him.

The kid was a rookie, straight from the academy. His uniform was so new Rick imagined he could still see the fold marks and for a brief moment Rick felt old.

He rubbed absently at his short beard, the feeling still novel against his fingers, and resisted the urge to finger his hair, longer than he’s ever worn it, the edges curling at the base of his neck and around his ears. It made him look wilder, so foreign from the clean cut man he had always been, the man Lori had always admired in his ironed uniform, and that his mother had always fussed proudly over when he was younger.

Parrish looked so clean he’d squeak. Rick supposed he had once looked the same, fresh faced, clean cut and eyes a little wide.  

“I know you don’t want to work with me-“

“It ain’t you.” Rick cut off, because it wasn’t, he seemed like a good kid, the Sheriff seemed to like him and Rick honestly had nothing against him. He didn’t want to go into this partnership with something like that weighing it down. Parrish didn’t look convinced and Rick smiled grimly at him. “Honest now. I don’t want to work with anyone. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“You and Walsh have always worked together.”

“Me and Walsh are done.” Parrish went up in Rick’s estimation when he didn’t push it. He nodded, a curt bob of the head and shifted uncomfortably where he stood but said nothing more on the topic.

Rick looked down at his coffee, his thumb rubbing absently over the chip on the rim as he organised his thoughts.

“What do you know about the arrest last night?” Parrish looked confused by the question, his brow furrowing but he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Dixon?” at Rick’s nod he continued. “Not much, it was led by Kendel, he got a tip off or something. There was a fight, Dixon resisted arrest. Rumour is, Dixon hasn’t said anything since he was brought in. Refused council, hasn’t made his phone call and hasn’t said a goddamn thing.” He paused, thinking. “Except swearing, he’s sworn a lot and cussed out the officers pretty bad.” Rick almost wanted to smile, while he had no love for Merle he could see something of Daryl in his behaviour, a spitting, wild animal who played by its own rules.

“He’s being charged with the Rodrigues murder?” Parrish nodded, looking a little uncomfortable, the whole station knew Rodrigues was Rick and Shane’s case, had been since the moment it was called in. “Any accomplices?”

“Don’t think so, Kendel don’t seem to be looking for any.” Rick frowned, because that made no sense.

“Do you know why Kendel thinks its Dixon?” Parrish shrugged.

“A tip off or something.” Rick nodded.

There was something off about this arrest, Merle had been a person of interest in his own investigation but he seemed like too much of an outsider, even amongst the Claimers. Though no means helpful in their enquiries Merle was one of the few who hadn’t outright lied and misdirected with his statement.

He thought about Daryl getting beat up by his brother. That clearly demonstrated he was capable of the level of violence displayed on Rodrigues. Rick had considered it himself on that sleepless night when he’d found Daryl on the side of the road but even then, with the evidence of Merle’s temper down the hall, he hadn’t been sure.

Rick’s mind flicked to the body on that lonely stretch of road and the injuries on full display on the mortuary slab.

Rodrigues had been restrained while beaten, the restraint marks blurred and unclear but indicative of hands, of multiple hands, holding him down as he was kicked and punched and beaten with a metal pole or something similar.

Even if Merle was to blame, he certainly didn’t do it alone. Why would he take the time to restrain Rodrigues, punch him multiple times, kick him near to death before taking the time to find a weapon and finish him off? Why would he then break the restraints, drive him out to the side of an empty road and dump the body all by himself? Bodies were heavy and unwieldy, difficult to dispose of and hard to control. All without leaving any prints or identifying marks.

The dumping of the body displayed a neatness of mind, a rational which Merle was capable of, Rick was sure, when he was sober and clean. Daryl had said Merle had beaten him when he was high, high people prone of such violence didn’t take care to dispose of bodies and remove evidence.

It didn’t make sense, either Merle had an accomplice that Kendel was wilfully ignoring or the tip off Kendel received was screwy.

Parrish shifted, reminding Rick of his presence. He kicked off from the wall and nodded Parrish ahead of him to the side entrance, tipping his coffee out into a bush as he passed.

 

Rick observed Parrish as they went on patrol and he got the feeling he was being watched in return. He wondered if the Sherriff had put him up to keeping an eye on Rick or whether he was doing it off his own back, wary of his new partner.

He was a good police officer, considerate, pleasant, followed the rules and seemed to honestly enjoy what he was doing. Rick saw a lot of himself in the younger man.

They ate at the diner on the far side of town for lunch on the way back from a routine call and chatted pleasantly with each other. It wasn’t the instant connection he’d had with Shane and even to an extent, Daryl, but they didn’t appear to rub each other the wrong way.

Rick always tried to be courteous and kind but he wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter and that could put people off sometimes, finding him standoffish. He wondered if Parrish did, he filled the quiet when it was becoming too much and had no difficulty finding topics to discuss or speaking his mind which Rick appreciated.

He’d be a good cop, he decided, it was in him like people had always told Rick it was in him. Even now he felt a swell of pride when he polished his badge or helped someone and he could see the same thing in Parrish.

He just wished he didn’t have to work with him, he didn’t want to get too close. Your partner was like your work spouse, they saw the best and worst of you, put up with you for days, months, years on end and you learn to love them after all that time and they had your back in dangerous situations, people got hurt and people got killed in this job and you had to have someone you trusted at your back.

He’d already had Shane as his brother when they joined up, their work partnership simply brought them closer and it became life or death, not just friendship. Rick couldn’t stand the thought of having that again, of being betrayed again, because if Shane can do that to him, he wasn’t safe anywhere.

His mind kept straying back to his doubts over Merle’s arrest. In the quiet between calls he’d find himself sifting through the evidence and questions they’d amassed on the Rodrigues case and no matter how he looked at it, twisting it this way and that in his mind to look at it from every angle, the arrest just didn’t sit right with him.

He could accept that Merle had done it, it nagged at him but he could accept it. It was the absence of an accomplice which didn’t fit. He’d never had any doubt in his mind that more than one assailant was involved, even if it was just to move the body, so why than was Kendel not looking for anyone?

He tried not to think about how Daryl would be with his brother arrested. He knew Merle had spent time in jail before, but this was for murder, and if he did avoid the death sentence there wasn’t much of a chance that he’d ever get out.

Rick didn’t think Daryl would be happy to hear that, they’d be lucky if Daryl didn’t break him out and wind up in his place.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t worried about the other man. He’d looked out for Rick when the whole Lori and Shane thing had come about and he honestly enjoyed the other man’s company, but this was Rick’s job and it didn’t seem right to check in on the brother of the man arrested for a murder Rick had been investigating. It would have been worst if Rick had been the one to arrest Merle, but this was bad enough.

Despite all the reasons he came up with why it would be a bad idea to check on the other man he couldn’t help but worry.

Parrish looked confused when Rick made the turn off to the Dixon property after their last call for the afternoon and they were on their way back to the station. Rick shifted in his seat, eyes darting to his passenger and back to the road in front of him.

“I’ve got a stop to make before we head on back.” He could see Parrish nod his head from the corner of his eye but remained silent.

Rick’s eyes roved the property as they pulled up, taking everything in. Daryl emerged from the side of the house at the sound of the car, cigarette in his mouth and eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

Rick shut the car off and ran his hands through his hair as he watched the other man. He looked tired and angry, ready for a fight like when they’d first met.

Rick hadn’t realised how different Daryl was now to how he was on their first meeting. His behaviour towards Rick had shifted sometime in their interactions and it surprised him to realise he didn’t know when that had happened, when Daryl went from a Dixon to a friend.

Rick had gotten used to his ducked head, small smiles and loose shoulders as they chatted and drank together like old friends the few times they’d ended up together. Daryl was almost a stranger to him now, body tense, face sneering and eyes as hard and cold as his brothers.

The heat pressed close the moment Rick stepped out of the poorly air conditioned car. He heard Parrish scramble to open his own door and lever himself out, but Rick was already making his way across the yard.

“You best be leaving.” Daryl said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and grinding it into the dirt with relish as he watched Rick approach.

“Daryl-“

“Did I stutter? Get off my land. _Pig_.” Rick raised his hands to placate and saw Daryl eyes narrow impossibly further. Rick had never seen Daryl like this, spitting mad and ready to fight, he looked like he was about to break out of his own skin if he held himself back much longer. He’d never seemed more like his brother than he did in this moment, Merle’s words out of Daryl’s mouth and Merle’s ugly sneer on his face.

Rick planted his feet in preparation and lowered his hands but kept them away from his gun belt. Daryl’s gaze followed the movement, keen eyes tracking for any threat.  

“It wasn’t me.”

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it don’t.” Daryl scoffed, body weaving like a snake preparing to strike. Out of the corner of his eye Rick saw Parrish’s slow approach, hand carefully resting on his gun, ready to draw.

Rick caught his eye and shook his head, expression firm as he gestured for the other cop to stay back. “You come to arrest me too? Get the matching pair.” He spat on the ground, “My brother’s in jail!” Rick watched as Daryl paced more erratically, coming close and moving away seemingly without reason but Rick watched him carefully, eyes tracking his movements and preparing himself.

“Daryl-“

“No! Fuck you!” Rick was ducking before he’d fully realised what had happened. The object sailed off to Rick’s left but as his eyes were drawn to the movement he felt the impact of Daryl’s tackle.

They landed on the ground in a cloud of dry dirt. Pain shot through Rick’s back on impact, the ground was solid and uneven and knocked the breath out of him. A punch was landed on his belly before he could get it back and he gasped into the hot dry air.

Daryl was red faced and furious above him. He saw Parrish over them and raised his hand, trying to shout through his seizing lungs. He must have articulated enough because Parrish backed off, gun in his hands and eyes impossibly wide in his young face as he watched them.

Rick fought back, dodging blows as best he could and allowing others to land as he manipulated their movements. With a shout he knocked the younger man onto the ground and clambered on top of him. Daryl got in a glancing blow to his chin before he could get a hold of his arms and press them to the ground above him, his legs wrapping serpentine around Daryl’s own like he’d been trained to do to properly immobilize unwilling assailants.

When he finally got Daryl restrained they were both gasping for air which tasted more like dirt than relief. He looked down at the man beneath him, red face damp with sweat, teeth bared in a snarl as he cursed, bucking and struggling in his hold.

Rick rode with the movements like he was taught to, reaffirming his hold and clenching his teeth at the strain and the sparks of pain from Daryl’s fists and the ground.

“Parrish stand down. It’s alright.” He chanced a glance at the other cop and was rewarded with a solid head butt from the man below him. Rick gripped his wrists tighter in retaliation and bared his teeth in reply.

Daryl stared up at him and if Rick didn’t know he was so angry, he’d think he looked scared.   

“Calm down.” Rick growled. His voice felt gravel rough and desperate. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t arrest him.” Rick could feel Daryl’s body still trying to fight him off but he stayed firm, his weight constant, his grip loosening only enough to allow blood flow back into Daryl’s hands.

Slowly Daryl grew limp beneath him, the snarl melted from his face and was replaced by a curiously blank expression, eyes still steady on Rick’s face, assessing, but the fight bled from his body.

“I didn’t arrest him,” Rick repeated as calmly as he could with adrenaline pumping in his veins and his heart jackhammering in his chest. “I want to talk to you about what happened.” He watched as Daryl clenched his teeth and visibly steadied his breathing as he stared defensively up at him.  

“I’d like to have a calm conversation on this topic, do you think we can manage that?” Rick shifted his grip on Daryl’s wrists and shifted his weight so he was no longer pressing down on the other man with all of his weight. “If I let you go, are you going to attack me?” Daryl shook his head and after an assessing look Rick lifted himself off the younger man and rose to his feet.

He felt his knees click and his back spasm reminding him of his injuries. He resisted hobbling like an old man and instead wiped at the bridge of his nose where it felt hot and wet from the head butt. His hand came away smeared with blood and Rick wiped it off on his uniform pants before offering it to Daryl to help him up, he was lucky, he didn't think the bone was broken, the skin just split.

Daryl stared at the hand offered to him as though confused by its purpose. After a moment’s hesitation he grasped it and levered himself up. The stood toe to toe for a moment in silence, neither knowing what to do now.

“What do you know about your brother’s arrest?”

“You mean other than that I came home to find four cops trashing my house and hurling my brother in for something he didn’t do?”

“There was a tip off that your brother was involved in the murder of Rodrigues.”

“They’re fucking lying!”

“How can you know that?”

“Because he’s my brother.” Rick felt both exhausted and furious at that assessment. Daryl’s loyalty to his brother was far and beyond what the other man deserved and Rick couldn’t do anything with that. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to comb away the headache he felt growing with his fingers.

“The arresting officer was just doing his job, he got a tip off, followed it up and arrested Merle, there had to be enough there or he wouldn’t have done it.” Daryl looked unconvinced but he wasn’t attacking Rick so he took that as an improvement. “Are you okay?” Daryl scoffed at him but it was gentler this time, as though Rick was a mother hen who kept clucking over how thin he was getting. “Alright, well I’ll see you later.” He watched closely until Daryl nodded his acceptance, a minute bob of the head and lowered eyes. “I just want you to know I wasn’t a part of this, I don’t know much about what happened or what’s going to happen.” It was only as he said it that Rick realised how true that was, he wanted Daryl to know that he’d had no part in this and in some way he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with, he was on Daryl’s side. Daryl nodded again and now he just looked exhausted.

“He didn’t do this.” Rick give him a steady look, reading the weariness and worry in the other man’s face before Daryl turned to leave, not looking back at Rick who stood covered in dust in the middle of his front yard.  

 

The drive back to the station was an awkward one. They drove in silence and Rick could feel the heavy gaze of his passenger.

After a strained silence Parrish cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He didn’t turn to look at Rick but he got the feeling he was being watched closely by the other man.

“I’m not…” Parrish paused, clearing his throat again. “I’m not comfortable with what you did today. With Dixon.” Rick saw him dart a quick look at him before focusing back out the windshield. Rick sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t official business.” Parrish gave a sharp shake of his head as though dismissing the apology.

“It doesn’t matter. I am your partner whether you want me or not, and while we ride together we have each other’s backs.” They pulled to a stop light a block from the station and Parrish shifted in his seat to face Rick and Rick turned his head, hands resting on the wheel and focused on the feel of the hard surface under his fingertips. “That’s what partners do. Provoking a fight and telling me to back off is-“

“I didn’t provoke a fight.” Parrish made a face and ducked his head as if to say that was up for debate and Rick found himself liking the kid a little more.

“Either way, you should have warned me beforehand. Given me a heads up, something. Said ‘Hey Parrish just FYI I’m about to get my arse kicked’.”

“He didn’t kick my arse.” Rick interjected, voice going high with indignation and Parrish looked like he wanted to grin. He looked like he should smile more than he has today, as though it was more natural on him than the pleasant reserve he’d had in his dealings with Rick.

Rick felt a flair of guilt shoot through him. He knows he hasn’t made it easy on the kid, this wasn’t on him.

“He gave it a decent go.” Parrish sniped before turning serious again, “Grimes, that’s two fights in one day. The sheriff admires you, we look up to you and respect you, but man, if riding with you is like this every day… I don’t know if I can.” The light turned green and Rick sighed, taking off.

“It’s not like this every day, today is an exceptionally shitty day.” Parrish nodded and they sunk into silence again.

Rick felt tired, worn thin and bruised. His body smarted with hurts and his head kept reminding him of everything over and over again, Lori and Shane, Daryl, Merle, Rodrigues and back to Lori again. He was sick of it and exhausted, he just wanted to disappear into a quiet place and not have to pretend he was handling everything alright, to not have to show up to work and act like everything was okay, to look at Shane and hold himself back from wailing on the guy and sobbing like a kid because the betrayal _hurt_ it hurt more that the bruises he felt blooming and the ache of his muscles from the fights.

They returned to the station. Rick set his desk to order and prepared it for the next day, ordering his files and cleaning it up. It was a simple, probably unnecessary job but it was a small second of control and he knew he’d appreciate it in the morning when he didn’t have to hunt for the right file.

Parrish waved goodbye a little while later when Rick was finishing up his report on the last call they’d had. Rick nodded back and offered an approximation of a smile. He knew he hadn’t been the easiest partner and he felt bad, though he honestly didn’t think he’d be much better tomorrow.

He was shutting down the computer and contemplating what to bring back to his motel room for dinner when he saw Lori at the front desk.

He rubbed his hands through his hair and tugged at the curls to try and alleviate the headache which had been a low constant in the peripheral of his awareness since his fight with Daryl.

He contemplated hiding or even slipping out the back door but Lori had already seen him and was gesturing to him subtly through the windows.

Rick waved a hand at her before ducking into the locker room to get his stuff. She didn’t look pleased but Rick couldn’t find it in him to care at that moment. He took his time at his locker, organising himself carefully until Deputy Hammond shot him a concerned look and he grimaced a smile at him before leaving.

Lori was waiting out the front, her thin arms wrapped around herself. She turned to face him when he pushed through the door and Rick cut her off before she could speak.

“Lori, today is not a good day for this.” He’d meant to sound firm and dismissive but it had come out exhausted instead.

“Oh my lord, did Shane do that?” Lori’s eyes had gone wide when she got a good look at him and Rick frowned at her, confused.

“Do what?” At the pull of his brow he felt the sharp tight pinch on the bridge of his nose. “Oh, no. Not Shane.” Lori’s eyes went even wider.

“You got into a fight with someone _else_ today?” Rick closed his eyes and sighed. Lori’s voice had gone sharp with disapproval and Rick didn’t want to hear it.

“Like I said Lori, today is not a good day and I really can’t be bothered dealing with you right now.” He just wanted to go back to his uncomfortable motel bed, maybe watch something shitty on cable and go to sleep.

It didn’t look like Lori was going to let that happen just yet.

He watched as she forced herself to calm down and refocus herself.  When she spoke her voice was firm and calm, though pointed and Rick had heard that tone too much over the last few rocky weeks, _months? Years?_ He wondered absently when they’d started having problems,

“We need to talk.” He looked at his wife and felt irritation flare through him.

“Give me a fucking moment. Even if today wasn’t as shit as it was, you know what, I still wouldn’t want to talk to you.” The irritation bloomed when Lori huffed at him and looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, she cocked her hip and it looked just like the hundred other arguments they’d had, where Rick had done something wrong and Lori was pissed at him for it but wouldn’t tell him what. He grit his teeth.

“Rick, be mature about this-“

“Be mature? I think I’ve been plenty mature here.” He hissed, moving closer in an attempt to keep this private even though they were in the parking lot out the front of his work and he was sure someone inside must be watching. “But tell me Lori, how should I be acting? How would it best suit you for me to act? If there’s a fucking hand book on how to behave when you find out your wife’s been screwing your best friend then tell me, I’ll give it a read!” He turned on his heel and stalked away. After a beat, Lori followed.

“Rick, please.” He kept walking and Lori hurried to catch up with him. “We need to talk about this.”

“No Lori, we don’t.”

“Please just come home so we can talk. I made a stupid mistake and I’m sorry, we don’t need to let this ruin everything we’ve made.” Rick set his jaw and ignore her. “Carl wants to know where his dad is.”

“So let him stay with me this weekend when I don’t have work.” Rick said dismissively coming to a stop and turning to face Lori.

He’d move to a two bed room if he had to, he’d find a way to accommodate his kid before he finds an apartment and sorts things out.

There was no question in his mind that he wasn’t going to just abandon Carl over this, he was his son and he’d do anything to make sure Carl knew Rick loved him and none of this was because of him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lori looked concerned, her fingers knitting together. “We need to keep things as normal as possible and throwing him into-” Rick narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth together. When he spoke his voice came out like a snarl.

“Me moving out and you screwing my partner isn’t keeping things ‘ _as normal as possible’_ Lori, I want to see my son.”

“Rick-” Rick shook his head, he didn’t want to hear it.

“He’s my kid Lori, you’re not going to keep him from me.”

“I’m not trying to keep him from you, if you just came home-”

“That’s not going to happen.” He interrupted, voice firm and Lori swallowed. She looked away for a moment and Rick hated himself for thinking how beautiful she was as a breeze lifted her hair and made it flutter around her face.

The late sunlight caught on her earring and it glinted delicately amongst the curtain of her hair. The golden light cast a warm hue across her pale smooth skin and Rick didn’t want to notice these things, wanted to focus instead on the stiff way she held her body, the firm line of her mouth and the stubborn jut of her chin which made him grind his teeth. She looked back at him and gave a nod.

“Fine, you can pick him up from soccer practice on Wednesday and bring him home.” Rick shook his head and he saw that Lori wanted to huff at him again, he felt a vindictive flare of pride at messing up her plans.

“I’ll take him out for dinner then bring him home.” After a moment she agreed and Rick decided that was the end of the conversation.

He turned back around and walked to his car. As he pulled out he looked back at Lori though he promised himself he wouldn’t.

She had one arm wrapped around herself and the other pressed to her mouth like she did when she was warring off tears. She was a tall lean figure of a woman in the late sunlight, beautiful and striking. The vision of her made Rick’s stomach roll with anger and sadness in a way that made him feel sick.

 

He drove in a daze, finding himself in the parking lot of the motel, staring up at the dated building in front of him and couldn’t bring himself to go in and sit amongst his bags of possessions and the purposely impersonal room.

He forced himself out of the car and into the room where he surveyed his belongings. He took a shower and changed quickly before letting himself back out, closing the door on the bleak vision of his life and slid back into the car.

Once he was sat in the driver’s seat he realised he didn’t really know where to go. He’d always gone to Shane’s or a bar with Shane whenever he needed to escape for a moment.

He briefly contemplated going to the supermarket and wandering the isles for a while like he had when Lori had been pregnant with Carl and had switched between emotions faster than anything and he’d hide out at the supermarkets on errands she had sent him on as long as he could.

The thought filled him with a hollow feeling he didn’t like.

He thought about going to a bar, some of the guys from the station caught up for drinks tonight and he knew he would be welcome, but he didn’t really like the thought of sitting with them and pretending everything was alright, fielding questions about Shane because it was a small town and an even smaller police station filled with gossips who would all know about their fight and probably already knew what it was about. He ground his teeth at the thought.

He didn’t want to play nice, didn’t want to be crowded in with pleasantries and boring chit chat. Ideally he’d bump into Daryl and they could drink in companionable silence for a while. Daryl already knew everything that had happened and there was a certain charm to Daryl’s taciturn personality and blunt honesty.

He rested his head on the headrest and grunted into the quiet car. Daryl wasn’t likely to be hanging around a bar for a quiet drink tonight, not with his brother in jail and one fight under his belt today.

He wondered how he was doing. He’d been like a caged animal earlier that day, spitting angry and scared for his brother, though he’d hate the thought of Rick thinking that.

Before he’d even given the thought form Rick was starting up the car and pulling out of the parking lot, Daryl’s house firmly in his mind. He wanted to see how the other man was doing, to be around him and not have to pretend to be anything he wasn’t. They both needed someone around and it might as well be each other.

Rick nodded to himself and firmed his resolve as he drove out of town.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd and also warnings for homophobia in this chapter

The heat was unrelenting, it clung to Daryl’s skin and rested like a weight across his body as he slouched low into his lawn chair and stared out into the woods. He took a long draw from his cigarette and scuffed a booted toe absently against the ground.

His eyes strayed to his own wrist and the blurred smudge of a bruise that circled it. He rubbed absently at it as though it was a smear he could wipe away. The resulting pain was vague, a dull throb around the bone and the instinctual knowledge of tender flesh.

With a sigh he turned his gaze away and took another draw on his cigarette. His mind returned, as it had done for the last hour whenever he wasn’t consciously thinking of something else, to Rick.

The memory was like a physical thing. He could feel the ground against his back, dust in his mouth and his hair sticking to his neck and forehead uncomfortably.  

Instinct had told Daryl to fight back, to buck and hit and remove the opponent from him. His muscles had twitched to fight against the strong arms holding him down. He could almost feel, even now, how his feet had scuffed against the dirt, kicking up dust even as he tried to calm himself.

Rick had bucked and moving when Daryl did like he’d spent a lot of time restraining people. Daryl supposed he did, being a cop.

He felt something coil in his gut as he remembered how he’d forced himself to grow lax, to make himself small and to stop fighting the hold. It had worked, Rick eased his grip, no longer grasping hard enough to bruise but still secure. Daryl had never felt secure being held like that before, immobile and defenceless, ground at his back and nothing but his opponent above him.

It had made him feel antsy and defenceless, Rick was entirely in control in that moment, he could have hurt him and Daryl hadn’t be in a position to fight back. Some part of Daryl had known Rick wouldn’t take advantage like that, even with his mind red with rage Daryl had known Rick wouldn’t hurt him unnecessarily. He didn’t know when it happened but Daryl trusted Rick, trusted him not to screw Daryl over like everyone else in his life has.

The weight of the other man above him had been unfamiliar but not bad, there had still been the raw animal need to escape clawing at Daryl’s throat but the weight pressing him down, firm but not painful, solid but not crushing was… _nice_.

Daryl growled to himself at the thought, his mouth twisting in distaste over it. Merle in his head spat and sneered, hard face angry.

He shook his head to himself and pushed the instinctual reaction away, he cast a wary eye around the property though he knew he was alone. Resettling his shoulders and breathing deeply he let the thought expand despite how it made him feel stupid to do it. Some part of him knew he needed to explore this, figure out what the hell was going on with him.

He looked back down at the smudges on his wrists, a thumb rubbing lightly across one, fascinated by it, by how he had felt when he received them. The strong stretch of his arms being held over his head as Rick’s own arms blocking the world from seeing Daryl and him from seeing the world.

The other man straddling Daryl’s legs and forced a stillness over his limbs had been foreign. When Daryl had gotten into fights with others in the past the aim had always been to debilitate. If they got him into that position they weren’t just going to hold him down, they were going to get as many hits in as they could before they got knocked off.  

This had been so different, tense in another way, Daryl had had no choice but to be held and wait for Rick’s next move.

When Rick had eased his grip on Daryl’s wrists he hadn’t even moved to get free, he’d kept his hands where Rick placed them until Rick had lifted himself up and moved back. Offering him a hand up and looking for all the world like that was a perfectly normal thing to be doing, like ending a fight with a hand up was normal. Like having a calm conversation when they both had fresh bloody marks and bruises and were covered in dust was rational.  

 _“I’d like to have a calm conversation on this topic, do you think we can manage that?”_ Who spoke like that? Who visited Daryl after another cop arrested his brother, talking real calm about it when Daryl was still smarting from the insult, when he was scared and frustrated and his brother was in custody. No normal person got up from a fight and talked calmly like he hadn’t just left bruises all over another man.

He pressed hard on one of the bruises, just to feel it throb. Shaking his head he levered himself out of the lawn chair and tossed the butt on the ground and ground it into the dirt with more viciousness than was required.

He moved into the house, letting the screen door bang shut loudly behind him. He got a beer from the fridge and set himself and his crossbow up in the dim tv room to work on her. A familiar task he loved to take his time doing and which required his attention and didn’t let his thoughts wander.  

 

The bang of a car door closing brought him out of his meditative work and he glanced up to see the light had changed. He looked out the window to see Rick crossing the front yard. Uniform gone and replaced by worn jeans and a dark plaid shirt.

Setting the crossbow aside Daryl rose to meet him at the front door. He leant his shoulder against the doorframe and watched Rick through the screen door. There was a cut on the bridge of his nose, probably from the head butt, his hair was freshly washed and curled at the collar of his shirt.

He met Daryl’s gaze through the haze of the screen door and ducked his head as he smiled.

“No partner this time?” Daryl drawled, to see what he would do.

“No tackle?” Daryl shrugged one shoulder and Rick laughed, a short low rumble that suited him.

Daryl pushed away from the doorframe and walked further into the house.

“You want a beer?” there was the sound of the screen door and an affirmative grunt from the other man. Daryl tracked his movements through the small house and onto the couch in the lounge.

He offered him a beer distractedly, eyes darting around the small room, hyper aware of it now more than he’s ever been before. Rick's house was large, neat and carefully designed. It didn’t have a couch they’d brought from a charity store five years ago or scuffed and scarred walls. The carpet wasn’t thread worn and falling to pieces in the doorways or in front of the couch where Merle kicked at the ground when he was agitated. There wouldn't ever be the crack on a wall from his brother fighting cops or the milk crate tower they used as a side table.

He glanced back at the man on the couch, perhaps expecting some of Daryl’s own thoughts to be displayed on his face. Rick was staring at the beer in front of him, brows knitted and his mouth tight with displeasure.

Daryl looked at the beer, it was Merle’s shitty choice but it didn’t deserve the look Rick was shooting it. Daryl’s eyes drifted to his own hand holding the drink, his nails were short and dirtyand his knuckles were busted and scabbed over. His fingers calloused, skin rough and tanned. His gaze strayed to his wrist and he realised Rick was staring at the bruises.

“I do that?” Rick’s voice was dark with self-loathing, his mouth curling in distaste.  

“What do you think?”

“Shit.” He looked away, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head. “I’m sorry man.” Daryl shifted awkwardly, he waved the beer at the other man and huffed when he seemed to not notice.

“It just looks bad, its fine.” Daryl couldn’t read the look Rick shot him, “Shit I get worse than that cleaning my bow.” He wasn’t lying, he’d almost lost a finger a couple of years ago when he hadn’t been paying proper attention while re-stringing her.

Rick didn’t look like he believed him but thankfully let it rest. He took the offered beer and sank into the rough worn fabric of the couch.

Daryl found himself hovering awkwardly in his own home, with a quick look around he decided to finish with his crossbow.

They sat in companionable silence as Daryl worked. Daryl’s attention on the job at hand and Rick’s straying from Daryl’s work to the rest of the room. He watched absently as the sun set and the beams of sunshine grew long and fire bright against the lengthening shadows of twilight.

Daryl set his finished bow aside and looked around the now darkened room. There was a half-finished beer at his side but it was still cool to the touch and he knew he’d been working long enough for it to have gone warm.

He glanced at Rick who had a beer of his own and into the kitchen where there was two empty beer bottles sitting neatly side by side on the Formica. There was a huff of laughter from the couch and his eyes shot to Rick, he was rolling his own bottle between his palms and watching him.

“Never met a man who loved his weapon so much.” Rick stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles.

Daryl didn’t really know what to do. Sitting in total silence and working on his crossbow probably wasn’t the thing you were meant to when people came over. He glanced awkwardly around the space and tried not to compare it to Rick’s home.

Rick had fed him every time he’d ended up at the older man’s place. He tried to remember what he had in the kitchen, it was pretty scarce last time he’d been in there. He supposed they could get burgers, the place was about a ten minute drive from here.

“You hungry?”

“You got another kitchen in this place? Because I’ve only seen beer in the fridge you got.” He flashed Daryl a smile. “I was thinking about doing a burger run.” Daryl nodded. Rick took that as final and rose in one smooth stretch. He patted his pockets and moved towards the door.

Daryl bounded to his feet after him. Rick had paused at the front door and Daryl felt suddenly awkward standing in the small entrance. It had always felt small, especially small with Merle taking up any space he entered. Rick seemed to do the same only subtler. Daryl didn’t realise how much space Rick took up until he was directly in the middle of it.

“I’ll be back in twenty, you want anything special?” Daryl shrugged, feeling a little lost. Rick nodded again and was out the door leaving Daryl standing in his own entrance watching Rick drive off.

Shaking his head to himself he moved into the bathroom for a shower.

 

Rick found him on the back porch bottle in hand and cigarette in his mouth watching the smoke curl into the air. Rick dumped a bag in his lap and slumped into the lawn chair beside him, his long legs kicking out and seeming to go for miles.

They ate mostly in silence, the occasional conversation drifting between them but faded naturally. Daryl chewed carefully, savouring the meal and the comfortable companionship.

He liked the quiet, not being alone in the quiet but not having to watch his mouth, to vocalise his thoughts or listen to somebody else’s. Merle always ran his mouth, even when he knew Daryl wasn’t listening, man liked the sound of his own voice. Rick talked more than Daryl but he seemed comfortable with sitting in silence as they worked their way through their meals.

He had no idea why Rick was here. The man seemed too good to be sitting in a hick’s back yard in the middle of nowhere with a Redneck like Daryl.

He chose not to think too hard on it, he’s just found out his partner is screwing his wife, probably didn’t really want to stay with his other friends who knew him and Lori and would be asking questions and talking about it. Daryl would choose a near stranger who already knew the deal over that shit any day.

“Do you think Merle did it?” Rick asked, breaking the quiet. Daryl looked at him and felt a flare of anger shoot through him, so that’s why he was here.

It must have shown on his face because Rick shook his head at him and shot him a stern look, pushing on before Daryl could decide whether to throw a punch or start shouting. “No, I’m not asking you to make a statement, I’m not trying to trap you or set you against your brother. I just want to know, in your honest opinion, _do you think Merle did this_? You know him better than anyone, probably better than he does.” He held Daryl’s gaze and Daryl couldn’t make himself look away.

He felt his initial spark or anger stutter and die in the face of Rick’s steadfast calm. Daryl swallowed his mouthful of burger, his eyes darting away nervously before returning to the cool blue eyes assessing him.

“No.” If Rick was surprised by Daryl’s response like Daryl himself was, he didn’t show it. Daryl realised it was true even as he said it. He didn’t think Merle had done this, not that he wasn’t capable of it, but it didn’t seem like his brother. “He’s an arsehole but he’s not a killer.” _Not yet_ he finished silently, though it seemed to echo in the space between them.

Rick nodded, seemingly satisfied. Daryl waited for the admonishments, the denials, the accusations of covering for his brother, that he was a Dixon so obviously he’d done it.

None were forthcoming and Rick returned his attention to finishing the meal in his lap. Daryl felt himself relax by increments, a warmth blooming in his chest. They didn’t talk about it again.

 

The night grew darker and the sounds of the cicadas and night animals in the surrounding woods grew louder as they worked their way through a dozen beers together. Rick leant his head onto the back of the chair and sighed heavily.

“Lori came to see me after work.” He shot a glance at Daryl, “Me and Shane, we got into a fight this morning. Must have told Lori, she was pissed.” Daryl raised his eyebrows. He didn’t think that he meant an argument when he said fight. That’s two fights in one day. He felt weird thinking of Rick’s world shifting like that, becoming more like Daryl’s. Maybe he was poison, he corrupted everything he came close to, this family man cop and his perfect life wasn’t like this before, Daryl would bet on it.

He wondered if Rick would have found out about the affair if it weren’t for him, whether he would have gone on happy and oblivious until the other two got bored of screwing each other.

Daryl wouldn’t be surprised if Rick blamed him for letting the cat out and screwing everything over, or whether he was yet to think about it like that and Daryl had that to look forward to. Merle would be screwed then, the only cop on their side wising up and dumping their sorry arses in it. “I miss my kid. I miss my home.” Rick went on, “I am so _angry_. I didn’t know I could be this angry.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Why? Because I’m not throwing punches? Shouting and hitting things? That won’t do me any good. I can’t have my son look at me and see an angry old man.” Daryl thought of his own daddy, spitting fury like fire against his back.

Carl had never looked at Rick with anything like the fear Daryl had felt for his own father. He remembered listening to them as he lay in that ugly spare room, their voices and laughter floating through the quiet house. He’d never had that, it didn’t seem likely that it was something that could just disappear and be replaced by fear and loathing.  

He looked at the other man, he was painted in highlights and shadows, the light from inside warred with the night across the angular features of his face. His eyes were closed and his head was tipped back against the back of the chair. He looked exhausted. The nearly empty bottle of his sixth beer hung from his fingertips in an absentminded way as though he’d forgotten he was holding it.

Daryl downed the rest of his drink and stood up. Rick turned his head to Daryl’s direction but didn’t open his eyes. His limbs seemed too long when Daryl pulled him up, arms uncoordinated before Rick could put himself to order and get his feet under him properly.

Daryl led him through the narrow doorway and into the lounge room where he dumped him on the worn couch. It wouldn’t be long enough to hold his tall frame comfortably, but Daryl had slept on it a couple of times and it hadn’t done him any wrong.

Rick stood up the moment Daryl stepped back and he looked as though he was shaking himself awake to leave.

“Where you going you dumbass?” Rick gestured half-heartedly towards to the front of the house and his waiting car. Daryl rolled his eyes and shoved gently at the other man until he folded back down onto the couch. “Come on Officer, get some sleep.” Rick levelled him with a tired look, assessing him for some unnamed quality before nodding and reclining back onto the couch.

Daryl shifted awkwardly in the middle of the room, suddenly feeling out of place. He turned on his heel and went to his bedroom where he kicked off his boots and shirt, changing on automatic into sleep pants before crawling onto his bed.

He lay back and stared up at the shadows which danced across his ceiling until he fell asleep.

 

Daryl came awake slowly. The familiar ceiling above him came into focus and it took him a moment to realise he was awake, the room was shadowed and dark, moonlight casting faint light through the windows and giving everything a dreamlike quality.

His bladder felt heavy and he wondered idly if he could ignore it and it’d go away. He turned to his side and hit the pillow into place before closing his eyes, trying to fall back under. It wasn’t going to work.

With a sigh he pulled himself up and out of his bed. The carpet rough and familiar under his toes, he was hyper aware of it now with the knowledge that there was another in the house. He paced his steps over the familiar ground to avoid the spots in the floor that creaked and groaned, his awareness of his bare skin safely hidden in the darkness of the night as he moved through the house.

He pissed with the door firmly closed and washed his hands without looking in the mirror. The late hour felt hazy and thick like treacle against his sleepy mind. The heat made it hard to breath and pressed close against him as he moved through the house silently, pausing in the kitchen for a drink.

Rick was spread out on the couch, socked feet up on the arm rest and head back as he breathed slow and deep. He’d taken his shirt and shoes off at some point to fight the stifling heat and they lay in a messy pile beside the arm of the couch.

Daryl cocked his hip against the counter as he savoured his drink, the water tasted tinny and warmed faster than he liked but it was refreshing, cutting through the fog of night and sleep.

The moonlight illuminates the curve of Rick’s body and got lost in the wild curls of his hair and the shadow of his beard. He didn’t look as out of place here as he had earlier, maybe it was the late hour but he didn’t look as foreign. Less clean cut, less like the man who owned the nice big house and had the wife and kid out of a fucking magazine. He didn’t look like the cop either, stupid uniform looking like too many of Daryl’s bad memories.

He set the empty glass down and moved around the counter and into the lounge room.

Merle snored, loudly. Some nights it was like a chainsaw in the next room. He got up every couple of hours to bang around the bathroom or the kitchen before heading back to bed. Daryl was used to it now, barely work up to it. When Merle had first come back into Daryl’s life he’d barely slept for a month, would go out into the woods at night just to get a few hours of sleep.

Rick didn’t snore, barely made a noise. His breaths were slow and even and whatever movements he did make, they were small, the shifting of a foot, pressing his head more firmly into the pillow, the clench and release of a fist.

Daryl contemplated the man in front of him. His limbs seemed too long, legs hanging off the end, arm hanging low over the side of the couch and brushing against the ground.

He should look stupid but he doesn’t. Silvered by the moonlight he looked like he was carved from stone. Stern face not necessarily relaxed but softer in sleep. He looked like a man should, Daryl decided.   

His chest had a light dusting of hair over his muscled pecs. It shadowed the smooth skin below and Daryl stared at it. The half-light of the room was enough for him to see the details of his body when Daryl moved closer with silent steps.

A small handful of scars scattered across his torso and the muscles that came from hard work, not hours at the gym. He was leanly muscled, wiry and strong looking.

The swell of bones pressed against his skin and changed the landscape of his body with each deep breath he took and released.

Daryl didn’t have much hair on his own chest, a light sprinkling towards the centre of his sternum, some circling his nipples and a line running from his belly button to his groin. Rick wasn’t hairy, it didn’t curl up like a foam like Daryl’s daddy’s had, grey, wiry and course.

It made Rick seem manly, Daryl thought, head tilted and eyes squinted as he continued looking. It made him seem strong and mature, distinguished or something.

Daryl let a hand run down the length of his own torso, the bumps and ridges of scars, the buckle of his rib where he’d never healed right when he was a kid, the sprinkling of hair. He didn’t look nice like Rick, neat and put together and like men were supposed to look.

The shadow of Rick’s short beard morphed into stubble and was creeping down his throat, it was dark against the light tan of his skin and Daryl found himself wondering what it felt like. He didn’t have to shave most day, his hair coming in thin and pale where Ricks was dark and thick looking.

Daryl had never given body hair much thought. He’d wondered on occasion when he saw girls with hairy men what they saw in them, whether they liked them because they were hairy or if they didn’t think about it.

He eyed Rick’s chest hair again, there wasn’t a lot of it, just over his pecs and running from belly to belt buckle. Daryl wondered if the wife liked it, liked how manly it made him look, how strong, whether she ran her fingers through it, paying attention to the small nubs of his nipples it framed, or whether she ignored it, clawing at his back and pulling his hair which was getting long enough to grab, curling at the ends.

Daryl knew he shouldn’t even as his hand moved forward. He sucked his lips into his mouth and bit down as his fingertips brushed lightly over the other man’s chest, one loose sweep from his collar bone to the centre of his chest. The short hair tickled his fingertips but he frowned, it wasn’t enough to sate his curiosity.

He let his fingers rest on the centre of Rick’s sternum making contact with skin this time. He ran his fingers up, letting the feel of the short hair rub along his fingers. The skin beneath his was smooth and warm, nice to touch.

Daryl cocked his head and let his fingers wander, he rubbed against the grain, liking how the hairs pulled back at his movements before rubbing them back flat. His hand moved to the side, feeling the swell of muscle under skin, strong feeling even when he was so relaxed.

His attention was caught by the dark nub of a nipple right by his hand and he looked at it closely. He’d never really given much thought to his own nipples, they were just there. His finger traced lightly around the small patch on the other man’s chest, pressing against the different feeling skin at the centre.

There was a sharp inhalation under his hands and his eyes darted up to the other man’s face.

Rick was still, his eyes open and looking intently at him in the darkness, the moonlight glinting across his eyes.

Daryl’s hand jerked back as though burnt and he grabbed it with his other hand as though it might start doing something else without the restraint.    

Rick was still and silent, just watching him.

Daryl opened his mouth to say something, though he had no idea what he could say. He closed it with a snap, clenching his teeth together and frowned down at the other man before turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room.

He felt strangely petulant, as though he was a little kid throwing a tantrum and he didn’t understand why. He closed the door to his bedroom, knocking it with his shoulder to get it to close properly like he never bothered to do the rest of the time and threw himself onto his bed and breathed slow. Eventually, he fell asleep.  

 

Rick left early the next morning after he’d crammed dry toast into his mouth and watched Daryl wander around the house with bleary eyes.

Daryl had expected Rick to have left as soon as he could and they’d never mention the night before ever again, if they ever spoke again that was. He hadn’t expected to walk in on Rick sitting perched on the edge of the couch, shirt across his knee as he rubbed over his face roughly, pulling on the curls absently to wake himself up.

The sun was just rising and the room was washed in a soft pink glow. Rick had looked up and smiled at him, eyes soft and face still creased from the couch.

After Rick’s breakfast of dry toast and weak coffee, all Daryl had had in the cupboards, Daryl leant against the front of the house and nodded at Rick’s wave as he pulled away and disappeared down the road and out of sight. He felt curiously light. Calm in a way he didn’t usually feel anywhere except deep in the woods, nobody for miles in any direction and his bow on his back.

Letting the screen door bang shut he moved back into the house and hunted for something for his own breakfast.

 

When Daryl arrived back from the shops he saw three bikes lined up neatly in front of his house. Lou rounded the side of the house at the sound of Daryl’s car door closing, he waved cheerfully and disappeared back around the corner.

Daryl dumped his grocery bag at the door and followed.

“Sorry to impose bro, but old Merle would put the screws to us if we didn’t check in and see you were alright.” Tony was sitting in one of the deck chairs, leg over the arm and grinning up at Daryl as he cleaned under his nails with a bowie knife.

“’m fine.” Daryl grunted, eyes flicking between the two men who made themselves at home in his back yard.

“Sorry about Merle man, shitty thing.” Lou offered and Daryl nodded his thanks.

There was the rustle of leaves and Daryl’s attention darted to the figure emerging from the tree line. Joe bobbed his head in a greeting which Daryl returned.

“He’s right though, we look after our own.” Joe adjusted his belt and crossed the yard towards them as he spoke.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Joe shrugged genially. When he got near he clapped his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and give the muscle a squeeze.

“You need anything, you just give us a call and we can figure shit out.” Daryl turned his head to look at Joe more clearly.  

 “Like what?” Joe lifted a shoulder and let it drop, moving away from Daryl to stand beside Tony’s sprawled form.

“Work, money, if the pigs start hassling you.” Daryl nodded his thanks and turned away, scratching at the scruff on his chin.

“You boys want a drink or anything?”

“Nah, we was just passing through.” On cue Tony rose and Lou stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking and the three moved towards the front of the house. “Look after yourself Daryl, remember, you need anything, you come see me.”

Daryl walked them around the house and watched as they got on their bikes. He waved as they sped off, his eyes watching the clouds of dust bloom up behind them. The afternoon’s sun glowed hot in the sky and when Daryl sighed he could taste dust and exhaust.

He scooped up his bag and entered the house with heavy steps. With a muttered curse he set the bag down and stared at the contents.

His eyes strayed to the pale smudge of bruises around his wrist before they drifted out the window to where the bikes had disappeared down the road.

He didn’t know what to think, Merle was in lock up and he couldn’t get in contact with him, Rick was a cop and Daryl had no place getting friendly with him, Joe was hanging around and Daryl just wanted to throw his hands up and say screw everything, disappear into the woods and forget about all this bullshit but Merle was in prison and Daryl knew he hadn’t done it.

  

It took three days for the bruises around his wrist to fade and his ribs to stop twinging whenever he twisted or lifted his arms. He spent them in the woods and on the phone. He managed to talk to Merle once and his lawyer for two minutes, twice.

He tried to stop himself from getting angry, but it seems like nothing was happening. When his bruises were faded enough and the piece of shit lawyer had given the okay, he drove the two hour ride to the prison.

 

Merle looked tense when he sat down on the other side of the glass window. His jumpsuit didn’t look out of his place on his brother and he moved with the confidence he always displayed, no matter where he was. Merle picked up his end of the phone at Daryl’s prompt.

“How you been?” Merle sent him a sardonic smile.

“Just peachy.” Merle’s voice was a rumble through the shitty phone, his lips twisting in an amused quirk that annoyed Daryl.

“Why ain’t anything happening? You shouldn’t be in here. You could get the needle for this.”

“That ain’t going to happen baby brother, they’ve been throwing plea bargains at me left and right. They know their case is weak as shit and they ain’t going to get a death penalty pass.”

“So life instead?”

Merle cleared his throat roughly and shook his head at Daryl. He leant forward, elbows on the small counter and lowered his voice to a low, serious rumble.

“Stick to yourself and stay outta this.” He paused, before continuing. “Don’t trust anyone. Nobody going to care about you but me, little brother.”

“Why is Joe hanging around? This to do with what you two argued about the other night?” A muscle in Merle’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth but Daryl didn’t look away.

“That’s none of your damn business. Don’t piss Joe off but don’t go accepting anything from him.” Daryl’s eyes narrowed.

“Like what?” The muscle in Merle’s jaw twitched again and he narrowed his own eyes in return.

“Like money, a job. You stupid boy? Just do as I say.” His voice grew sharp and pointed, stern in a way which made Daryl want to straighten his spine like the soldier he’s never been. He fought the impulse and ran his free hand through his hair as he leant closer, attempting to keep the conversation private.

“Look, Rick don’t think you did this. He might be able to do something.” Merles face broke into a sneer, his pale eyes narrowing and he cheeks went mottled and red.

“Is Rick your cop _buddy_?” He shook his head dismissively. “I don’t want him sticking his nose into this and getting you or me killed.”

“Don’t be stupid, if you tell him what really happened he can get you off-“

“What? You think your friend Sheriff Rick cares about you? Don’t you know better than that? You’re nothing but a hole and a heartbeat. He sure as shit don’t care about what happens to me.” Daryl’s stomach went cold and heavy as he watched his brother through the scarred glass

“It’s not like that. He ain’t fucking me.” His voice sounded tight and strained. Merle curled his lip up and kept his voice low and quiet, wary of any listening ears.

“But you want him to.” The cold weight in his stomach rose rapidly to his throat and for a brief second he wondered if he was going to be sick. Merle continued, voice cold and low and Daryl could do nothing but listen through the tinny receiver he held numbly in his hand. “Dirty Darlene always panting after big bad men, waiting for someone to just hold you down.” Merle sniffed loudly. “All those years spent trying to make you a man, to teach you better but no, no girl was good enough for you, not when your eyes were wandering to every big dick that would treat you bad. I tried but Little Darlene was always a faggot.”

“I ain’t a faggot!” Daryl hissed low and dark with fury.

“And I ain’t no tattle-tale.” Merle leant closer to the glass and stared at his brother with steady eyes. “I’m your brother, your kin, listen to me when I tell you what’s best for you. A pretty officer bats his eyes at you and you’re falling over yourself to offer your blood up to him.”

“That’s not what it’s like.”

“It’s what it looks like, and acting stupid like that will get you killed.” Merle settled back a bit in his chair and the angry red flush to his skin faded but his lip was still curled with it. “I stay in here, you stay out there. Do what I say and don’t get involved with nothing.”

“You’re my brother, I’m already involved.” Silence stretched between them. He was right, of course he was involved, Merle was his brother and there was no way he wasn’t involved now. Daryl chewed on a hangnail debating with himself about pushing, he had questions and he needed answers, he couldn’t do anything and it was driving him crazy. “It was the Claimers wasn’t it? They’re the ones that killed that guy and got you locked up.” Merle’s eyes narrowed dangerously but he didn’t get angry again.

“Why you so interested in Claimer business now? Never had a mind for it before.”

“My brother was never in jail because of them before.” Daryl jutted his chin at his brother. “I’m right ain’t I? They’re the reason you’re in here.” Merle glanced around the room quickly and leant forward a bit, he wasn’t angry now but he was serious, he wanted Daryl to listen and listen good.

“You’re dumber than dog shit if you think you can do something about this and not get stomped on like that kid, or locked up like me.”

“Why’d they put you here?” Daryl asked around the hangnail. He wanted to ask more than that, what was Merle and Joe fighting about? Why was Joe hanging around, what kinda job did Merle think Joe’d be offering him?

Merle leant back in his chair looking relaxed and comfortable. He shrugged his wide shoulders and watched Daryl carefully through the thick glass.

“Coz old Joe holds the aces and it suits his purpose.” He smiled at his brother and Daryl thought he might be trying to comfort him, or maybe he was really that calm with the way things were playing out. “Hell, in here’s better than in a pine box. I ain’t no stranger to this way of life.

“You just keep your head down and your arse clean. Don’t get involved, not without me with you to watch your back.” He waited for the minute nod from Daryl. “Now you run along home now Darlene, keep them home fires burning.” He threw Daryl a wide smirk and hung up the phone.

Daryl watched, frustrated as he levered himself out of his chair and sauntered across the room to the guard who let him out. Merle disappeared out of sight without a glance back. Daryl hung up his own phone with a growl and left.

 

He was fuming when he left the prison, flush with anger and humiliation. He felt impotent, there was nothing he could do, the lawyers wouldn’t tell him shit and Merle was too stubborn to argue with when he’d set his mind on something.

Without the ability to work on getting Merle’s name cleared he had no choice but to chew on the shit Merle had been tossing at him. He'd been called a fag before but it had never hurt so much, it had never rung so heavily with conviction, with _belief_. Merle had honestly believed the shit he'd been saying and that hurt, it made his still tender ribs ache and his throat close up tight with betrayal.

He wondered what he had done to make Merle think that. His mind strayed to the other night and what he'd let that kid do to him in the back lane of Clarkson’s Bar. What had he done to make the kid think he'd want it? Nobody was stupid enough to proposition every guy they met. He wondered if there was some neon sign hanging over his head that told the world he was a freak and nobody had bothered to tell him.

His stomach rolled and he glared out into the traffic, his teeth clenching tightly shut until his jaw ached as the sick feeling in his stomach warred with the remembered buzz of arousal he'd felt that night.

Merle didn't even know about that, couldn't know, and even still he thought of Daryl that way.

Daryl had never paid no mind to the girls that hung around Merle and his friends and maybe that's what had damned him in his brother’s mind. It was just that Daryl didn’t like _those_ girls; they were loud and aggressive and always drunk or high. Daryl was no romantic but he wanted more than some trashy bar fly getting back at her man because she thinks he hasn't been treating her right. That didn't mean he was gay. Didn't mean he wanted the things Merle was saying he did.

He wasn't like the gays he saw on TV, all limp wrists, floppy hair and Colgate smiles, wearing clothes too tight and talking in that voice they all had, whiney and annoying.

Daryl wasn't like that at all, He glanced in the mirror at his scowling reflection, he wasn't all polished looking and girly.

He pulled off the road and into the dusty looking petrol station and up to the pump, he shut off the engine and chewed on his thumbnail. Merle was probably just pissed at the situation and knew Daryl was the only one he could piss off and it wasn't going to make the situation worst.

There was a soccer dad filling up his car in the next row and he eyed Daryl warily when Daryl got out of the car. Daryl glared at the man who fumbled with his pump and looked away before glancing back, as though Daryl was going to mug him right here in the open right in front of his kid who was watching Daryl through the window, wide eyed and curious.

The guy hurried into the station, just short of a run and Daryl sneered at his retreating back.

He looked back at the guy’s car. The kid was still looking at Daryl. He smiled wide and waved when he noticed Daryl's attention on him. Daryl glared at him but the kid’s enthusiasm didn't waver.

Daryl watched the kid’s dad who was hurrying back across the tarmac before climbing into the drivers’ seat, studiously not looking in Daryl’s direction. Daryl looked back at the kid who was still watching him. Daryl stuck his tongue out and smothered a smile and turning away when the kid burst into laughter as the car pulled away.

That guy hadn't looked at Daryl like some desperate fag, he wouldn’t have been so flighty if he’d thought Daryl was a gay.

Daryl crossed the tarmac and headed into the briskly air conditioned station, patting his pockets as he went. There was an old man arguing with the cashier over something as he entered and Daryl wandered the isles to wait it out. He took his time to decide on a loaf of bread before looking carefully at the other assortment of shit they had for sale.

The old man was winding up at the register when Daryl found himself facing the magazines.

He hadn't ever bothered wasting his money on magazines, Merle liked the skin mags and a couple of the hunting magazines. Daryl read the hunting ones occasionally but he preferred the real thing to reading about it. He’d never really wanted to look at Merle’s cast off skin mags, the look’s he had gotten over the years was of plastic looking women draping themselves over cars and pouring water on their hairless bodies and fake tits. There wasn’t anything soft about them, nothing gentle in the way they spread their legs and maybe he was more of a romantic than he thought he was but he found nothing really appealing in their displayed bodies, fake smiles and dead eyes.

His eyes skimmed over the skin mags, booby girls pouted out from the covers of pastels or blacks. There was a pale blue cover with a tanned, muscular man in front of the title _STUD_. Daryl glanced towards the counter and shot a quick look around the station before he reached out and snagged the glossy magazine. He shoved it down the front of his pants and reset his shirt over the top of it before he had a chance to think about it. He’d show Merle he wasn’t no fag, prove that guys didn’t do it for him.

He dumped the loaf of bread onto the counter and spat his brand of cigarettes and pump number at the kid as he rummages besides the register for a chocolate bar. The cashier eyed the front of his shirt as he put the packet on the counter but chose not to say anything after a glare from Daryl.

He pulled out a cigarette as he crossed the tarmac. He tossed the bread and chocolate into the passenger seat and cast a quick glance around before pulling out the magazine and putting it with everything else.

He smoked with the window down as he headed back into traffic ignoring the glossy magazine in his passenger seat.

He flicked the butt of his cigarette out the window at a traffic light and glanced to the car on the right of him. The man in the car was talking animatedly into his phone, he glanced in Daryl direction as he listened but looked away again as he interjected with a heated looking response.

Daryl looked away, watching the traffic lights blankly, he felt the phantom prickle of eyes on him. He glanced back at the car but the other man was apparently searching through the middle console.

Daryl gritted his teeth against the vague feeling of paranoia that prickled at his awareness. He looked at the passenger seat and his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the sight of the magazine laying innocuously beside him.

He contemplated throwing it out the window but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it’d somehow be traced back to him, that someone might see and that was something he didn’t want to explain. It’d be safer to get rid of it at home he decided, nodding to himself as he reached across and covered the glossy model with the loaf of bread before taking off with the change of lights.

Daryl pushed the magazine and the conversation with his brother out of his mind for the rest of his trip. When he got home he made his way into the kitchen, dumping his goods on the counter and made a sandwich from the loaf of bread and some cold meat from the fridge before making busy work for himself around the house.

He fixed the loose shelf in the kitchen that kept slipping and dumping anything held on it, he changed the lightbulb in the front light and contemplated the creaky armchair before he admitted to himself he was just making work for himself.

The magazine sat where he’d left it when he’d brought it into the house, face down on the kitchen counter. The back cover was an ad for cologne. He flipped it over and looked at the cover. The model was tanned and broad, handsome in a polished kind of way people seemed to like.

Despite knowing the house was empty Daryl felt on edge looking at the magazine out in the open, half expecting someone to appear and see even though he knew no one could get close to the house without Daryl knowing. He knew the woods surrounding the house like he knew his crossbow and the drive up was a noisy gravel road no car or person walking could hide on.  

Setting his jaw he took the magazine into his bedroom, knocking his shoulder against the door to close it properly before he sat on the edge of his bed.

The room was the same as it was every other day, the late afternoon light cast a warm golden hue around the familiar space. It was a small room, the unmade bed took up most of the floor space and one of the doors to the wardrobe hung off its hinges from when Daryl had fallen into it while drunk two years ago. Merle had laughed till he couldn’t breath and Daryl had slept half in the wardrobe and half on the floor that night, too wasted to even crawl to his bed.

Shaking the thoughts away he looked back at the magazine in his lap and opened it randomly. Flicking through the pages there was a mix of photos, ads and articles. He skimmed the pages absently as he flicked through and felt relief curl inside him. He didn’t feel anything for the draped tanned bodies, there was no arousal and no shock of desire for the displayed men.

He settled back more comfortably onto the bed and slowed his skimming. He flicked the page to a collection of images of one model, there was a short bio on the top right hand corner and he read it absently, Cory, College kid, top, six inches. Daryl made himself look closely at the images.

‘Cory’ was a buff guy in his twenties, he had that clean cut suburban look and he seemed cocky and superior in his photos. They started out him just showing his abs, beer in hand as he grinned widely at the camera. By four photos in he was on his back with his legs spread wide.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, it was weird to see a guy like that, dick and balls on full display, legs spread wide and head tilted up so he could still grin at the camera.

Daryl turned the page and found another spread, this one was for another college looking kid, he wasn’t as buff as Cory had been, and he stared out of the photos with hooded eyes and a pout on his mouth.

As he turned through the pages he felt something in him twist, the guys on their knees with dicks in their mouths all had the same look, dopey eyed and stupid looking with their mouths stretched wide. It didn’t look sexy or nice, it looked almost painful. Daryl remembered how the kid behind Clarkson’s bar had moaned, short grunts of noise as he’d sucked Daryl off, he’d said he liked doing it and he’d gotten hard while he did.

It seemed hard to believe that people liked doing that, that they wanted their mouths stretched wide and something shoved down their throats. Daryl licked his lips, his mouth dry as he swallowed thickly. A hazy thought in the back of his mind wondered what it was like and he felt his jaw loosen as an imagined weight pressed down on his tongue and filled the space. There was the curl of something in his chest, curiosity and mortification.

He let the thought linger and he imagined half formed ideas of what it might be like, mouth wide, a weight in his mouth skin against him and the smell of sweat and musk.

He shoved the thought away and felt himself blush into the empty room. He realised his dick was beginning to harden and his breaths were deep but slow.

Anger and humiliation warred with the stirring of arousal in his gut. He shoved them all away and steadied his breathing as he looked back at the magazine, as though continuing would prove anything, as though the answer to all the mixed up feelings and worries he’s never allowed himself to give form to would be written there along with dick measurements and fake names.

‘Brant’ was a self-proclaimed bottom with a seven inch dick and a classic Plymouth Roadrunner. He fingered himself on the hood of the car and Daryl frowned at the photo. He didn’t understand that, it seemed dirty and uncomfortable, it was difficult to believe the look of bliss on his face was anything but fake.

He kept looking, gaze lingering occasionally on an image before he caught himself. He bit his lip when he rested his hand on the crotch of his jeans and felt the physical evidence of the curl of arousal in his gut.

His attention shifted from the magazine to himself and he purposely pushed aside any thoughts that weren’t arousal as he undid his jeans and kicked them and his boots off the bed.

It was different, doing it here in the middle of the day. Even knowing the property was empty wasn’t enough to shake the nagging thought that someone might see, that they might know what he was doing. This wasn’t some furtive tug in the bathroom, this was on his bed in the middle of the afternoon, clothes off and magazine in hand and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

Settling back onto the bed he looked back at the magazine, one hand on his dick, stroking slowly and lightly, not like how he normally did. He was only going to do this once.

There was a large photo of a man on his hands and knees. His back was arched down so his arse sat high in the air and on display to the camera and the arm that reached in from the edge, two fingers in his hole.

Daryl looked at how the man's’ eyes were screwed shut, mouth slack and open as he hands clasped at the sheets under his head. He didn’t look in pain, it was definitely pleasure on his face but it could so easily be pain. Daryl had a hard time imagining it was anything but.

He set the magazine to the side and looked at the photo. His stomach twisted as he licked his lips in anticipation. Eyes darting around the room he considered everything carefully, if he was only doing this once to prove he wasn’t into any of it he should be completely sure, be open to it and be safe in the knowledge that he will never do it again.

Breathing deeply he closed his eyes and ran a hand along his thigh. He kept a steady slow motion on his dick with one hand and let the other explore. He touched his thighs, played absently with his balls and steeled himself as he ran his fingers along the skin beneath, soft and smooth he felt the rough callouses on his fingers scratch strangely.

It felt weird and only got weirder when he moved to his arse. He shied away and lifted his hands from his body, turning the page on the magazine and pretended to himself that he’d been planning on that all along. There was another guy, on his back this time with a broad tattooed man between his legs, fingers deep in his arse.

Daryl studied the photo and let himself relax back. He returned his hand to his dick and resumed a slow firm stroke, He spat on the fingers of the other hand and moved them purposely back to his arse. He didn’t let himself shy away this time and with a steadying breath he pushed against his opening. The muscle was curled tight and he had to force calm through his body as he rubbed at his entrance, loosening the furl of skin until his finger could sink in.

It felt weird, not bad, but weird. It was a presence where there shouldn’t be one. He was tight and hot around his finger, the rim closing tight around the digit and making his breath leave in a woosh.

He was embarrassed by what he was doing, knees up and legs spread his torso curved awkwardly as he reached down. He knew he looked ridiculous, he had never let himself care about how people saw him and how he acted but this was new and awkward and he’d never felt more exposed.

He pushed another finger in and moved them about, there was the slight stretch of muscle but the main thing was a sense of strangeness. He rolled his head to the side and looked back at the photo on display.

The man with the tattoos had pushed the other man’s legs apart and held one up and away from them in a stretch, his hands looked big against the other man and Daryl wondered if it was different if someone else was there. Feeling that kid from Clarkson’s’ touching his dick had felt different and more exciting than his own. He tried to imagine it was someone else’s hand touching him, he tried imagining the guy from the photo, when that didn’t work his mind flickered through the other models in the magazine, he tried Brant and Cory and when they didn’t worked he tried to invent a man, some broad, strong faceless man.

As he analysed what he was doing Merle’s accusations drifted into the back of his mind, what he’d said about wanting Rick and he wondered if all of this would be better with someone like Rick.

The memory of his fight with Rick shocked him like a blow, the weight of the other man above him, holding him down, strong lean body pressed close as Daryl tried to shake him off. The press of another form above him not causing him pain, not aiming to hurt, simply holding him, strong enough to look after him and block the world from intruding.

Arousal curled in his stomach and low in his gut, his dick twitched in his hand and he was surprised to find that the fingers in him felt better, less alien and almost pleasant. He wondered what Ricks hands would feel like, long fingered and strong with calluses different to Daryl’s own. Competent hands which Daryl had watched clean a gun with quick efficient movements, confident in whatever they did, which had cleaned and dressed his injuries with a care and delicateness Daryl hadn’t experienced often in his life.

He felt flush, heat rocking though his body as he heard his pulse loud and fast in his ears. His hands were moving now on instinct. Moving in ways which felt good and strange all at the same time.

He thought about having Rick there, between his spread legs, hands sure on his body in a way nobody has ever been. He wouldn’t pay attention to the scars that littered Daryl’s body, had already seen them and had ignored them. Rick wouldn’t look at the imperfections of Daryl and judge him for them, he’d hold him with sure, capable hands moving him where he needed to go, guiding and not minding that Daryl didn’t know. Large and strong above him, hands firm and confident. He’d look after Daryl, make this good for him. There’d be the scratch of his stubbled jaw, the hot breath down his neck and the warm deep smell of his skin, sweat and the cologne Daryl had thought about stealing.

Daryl was arching into his own touches, movements growing stronger and surer as he found what felt good. He bit his lip to hold back noises he didn’t realise he wanted to make and his eyes closed against the confusion of feeling that rocked through his body, hot like a fever that hazed his mind.

There was the electric spark down his dick when he brushed against something inside him and his breath stuttered in his chest. It was almost bad, the sharp jab of sensation like arousal condensed to the most pure shot of feeling and he didn’t know if he wanted it again, didn’t know if he liked the way it sparked through him.

He wondered in the back of his mind whether he looked like the guys in the magazine, wanton and unashamed, desired by strangers and hot enough that people paid to looked at them.

He came with a pained grunt and stared blankly up at the familiar ceiling as he caught his breath, hands flung from his body to lay beside him on the rumpled bed sheets. His legs stretched out and his breath evened out as the air settled along his flushed skin feeling colder than he felt it should.

He’d been sweating and now it cooled quickly and his body felt strange and uncomfortable wrung out and still buzzing as his skin chilled. The quiet of the property felt accusatory somehow.

He got up from the bed in one movement, ignoring the sheets and magazine he left behind as he forced the door open and stormed into the bathroom, his mind filled with a white noise buzz he didn’t want to get rid of because he could already feel the thoughts that wanted to impede on the temporary calm and he didn’t want them, he didn’t want to deal with them or how they’d make him feel.

He showered with his eyes closed and the water hot, he scrubbed at his skin twice before he allowed himself to just stand there, head bowed as the hot water pounded down on him in the small cramped shower he was so familiar with. He worked to keep his mind blank, using the sound of the pounding water as white noise to push any thoughts from his mind.

Stepping out into the muggy bathroom felt like walking into a swamp, hot and humid the moisture clung to his skin despite the towel he rubbed across himself.

The basin was cool to the touch when he leaned against it, staring at the hazy outline of himself in the mirror, he stood there without a thought as slowly, so slowly, the mirror in front of him cleared and the water on his skin cooled.

He looked flushed, a rosy hue to his skin and his hair in disarray. His wide shoulders filled the reflection and he looked at himself closely. His ribs still held the mottled shades of yellow and green, sickly looking blurs against the tan of his skin.

His scars looked obvious and ugly to him, standing out as lines and bumps along his skin, he was lean but broad, looking out of proportion to his own eyes, like he should be bigger, have more meat on him and be barrel chested like Merle or their daddy. His hair was too long, hanging around his face and sticking up at odd angles which defied gravity, still wet from the shower and dishwater brown.

He wasn’t anything like those guys in the magazine.

Turning away he returned to his room and got dressed. He grabbed the magazine from the bed, closing it without looking. He banged around the cupboards in the kitchen until he found the bottle of lighter fluid he was looking for.

He grabbing a bottle of beer before going outside and around the back of the house where there was an oil drum they occasionally had bonfires in. He dumped the magazine into the remains of their last fire, lumps of wood reaching up like charred broken teeth held it aloft like it was some kind of sacrificial offering.

He didn’t feel anything but a strange sense of vindication as he squirted the lighter fluid liberally onto the glossy pages of the magazine. He lit a match from the packet Merle had left beside the drum last time they’d had a fire and watched as the paper caught alight in a woosh.

As he stood there, watching the paper burn the white noise in his head began to fade and he wished it would stay. The thoughts crowded in, hard and indistinct, shame, anger denial and shock. He didn’t want to know what any of this meant, didn’t want to think about it at all.

His hands felt conspicuous in a way they’d never been before. It felt like what he’d done was engraved into his skin and anyone who glanced his way would see the bad thing’s he’d done.

He was aware of his arse and felt stupid for it. It didn’t hurt, there was just an awareness of it now. The crease of his arse and the seat of his pants just seemed obvious now and it made him uncomfortable.   

He squirted some lighter fluid onto the fire just to watch it flair up. The pages curled up like black petals, turning to grey ash as the rest of it burned. His stomach was a mess of emotions and his head felt heavy with thoughts he didn’t want to give form to, so he stood in the late sunlight, turning golden as twilight approached, bare foot and hair still damp as he watched the paper in front of him burn, sipping slowly at his beer and tried to think of nothing.

He stayed, watching the fire burn for a while after the magazine was nothing but ash, poking it with a stick so it no longer looks like it had once been anything more than that. There was the occasional flash of glossy colour where the fire hadn’t burned it properly and he absently buried them under the rest of the ash.

At some point twilight descended and Daryl retrieved another beer and settled into the lawn chair and watched the woods come alive with night noises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Merle was only meant to be a tiny character in this chapter but the more I wrote him the more I discovered i loved writing him, he's an amazingly complex character and despite how despicable he is, he's brilliant to write


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd so apologies for any mistakes :D

Sheriff Bronson looked up when Rick knocked on the open door and waved him in with one large hand, his attention returning to the paper in front of him.

Rick closed the door behind him and sat in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk and watched as Bronson signed something and closed a file before dumping it carelessly onto a pile to his left and looked expectantly at Rick.

Rick cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry about…” he twisted his head to relieve some of the tension in his neck. “It was a personal issue which we shouldn’t have brought to the office.” He felt like a kid in school sent to the principal’s office. Bronson nodded.

“Next time keep your damn problems at home.”

“I would if I wasn’t living in a damn motel.” Rick sighed and waved his hand as though to dismiss that. Bronson frowned at him with concern and Rick sunk into the uncomfortable chair. “He was sleeping with my wife.”

“Ah hell son, I’m sorry.”

“If this is where you tell me the whole station knew-”Bronson waved a large hand to settle him down, shaking his head.

“No, no, none of that. I just know you been friends for a while.”

“Since we were thirteen years old.” Bronson let out a low whistle and laced his fingers together on his desk.

“Hell son, Ida beaten him too.” Rick nodded as Bronson reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out a bottle and two glasses. He poured Rick a finger of the amber liquid and leant back in his chair with his own.

Rick noticed his eyes lingered on the framed photograph on his desk which Rick new was a picture of his wife and daughter at his daughter’s graduation.

It was a relief to have said it, to get it out there and have someone else know. It didn’t make it in any way better but he felt calmer knowing he was able to sit in silence and not feel on edge like it was going to be revealed at any moment, that someone was going to ask about Lori.

 “That’s not why I came in here,” he said, downing the rest of his drink and setting the glass gently on the table top. “I’m sorry it happened but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Bronson nodded for him to continue.

“I’m concerned about Kendel’s arrest of Dixon. I don’t know the full story but what I do know doesn’t sit right with me. Dixon coulda done this,” he pre-empted “But I got my doubts about that and even if he did, he can’t have done it alone. The ME’s report doesn’t fit with a single assailant-”

“Who do you think did do it?”

“There are a number of suspects, some a better fit for it than Dixon.”

“Then why do you reckon Kendel went forward with it?” he was speaking hesitantly, leading Rick to showing his cards and Rick was aware of the thin ice he was skating on.

“I don’t know. Could be he was suitably convinced but…” Rick met Bronson’s eyes steadily. “But something about this arrest don’t feel right.”

“Give me your file.” He nodded to the file Rick had brought in with him and Rick handed it over and sat in silence while Bronson read through the notes. Rick had spent the night ordering and reordering the content to best illustrate his doubts and the trail of evidence and questions that contradicted the Dixon arrest.

He hadn’t mentioned Daryl or his insistence of his brother’s innocence and he just hoped he had enough without it.

What he was doing was dangerous, cops backed each other up, it was a brotherhood and you didn’t just go around criticising other people’s arrests.

Sheriff Bronson closed the file after slowly working his way through it, he rested his laced hands over the file and looked carefully at Rick.

“I can see your point.” He finally offered. “I don’t like it but I see it, if it’s just sloppy police work it can be fixed.” His eyes drifted to the window over Ricks head which looked out onto the squad room. “You can keep looking into this, I’ll give you till the end of the month, if you don’t have anything more by than you close the book.

“I don’t want anyone knowing about this, no one out there. You’re working in an official capacity but you keep your head low and your mouth tight, ya hear?” Rick nodded and they sat in silence for a moment more before Bronson handed the file back over and Rick rose to leave.

“Grimes,” Rick turned back, “I hope your wrong and Dixon did this.” Rick nodded once and left the office.

 

 Carl grinned brightly when he saw Rick waiting for him out the front of the school. Rick’s own grin made his face hurt when Carl bounded into his arms despite Joey being not too far off.

Rick held his son close and closed his eyes as he took in the smell and feel of his boy in his arms. It had been hard not having his son near him, even though he was alternately surly and friendly, the beginning of teenage difficulties, it had been so hard not to see him every day, to hear him talk about his day and even complain about not being allowed to watch or play what the other kids did.

Carl pulled away before Rick was done revelling in the feel of his son in his arms and he reluctantly let him go. The pair got into the car, Rick darting glances at his kid whenever he could.

They ate at a diner Rick frequented for work and smiled as Carl bounced on his seat excitedly as he read the menu. Lori had always been firm about making sure Carl ate good food. She could be a controlling mother but Rick knew it was because she wanted to look after her baby boy.

It had bothered Rick sometimes when it seemed a little like trying to wrap him in cotton wool and he’d worried how it would go when Carl got older and wouldn’t follow along so easily.

Rick had always been a good kid, but even he had snuck the occasional drink or cigarette with Shane, trying to be cool and tougher than he really was. All kids did and he had no doubt that Carl would be the same, Lori’s concern would clash with rebellious youth and Rick had been dreading the inevitable tension.

“So how was work dad?” Exhausting, he wanted to say, but Carl didn’t need to hear about that, to consider the fact that there might be something going on at the station, that Rick had essentially told the Sherriff that he doubted a fellow officer.

He shrugged instead and told a story about one of the more amusing call’s they’d had. Carl looked sad when he mentioned Parrish and there was a beat of tense silence as they stared at their food.

Carl was a lot like his father but he was just a kid. Rick didn’t know what Lori had told him or what he’d picked up on his own, there was no hiding that Rick wasn’t coming home at night.

“You’re not working with Shane anymore?” Carl eventually asked, voice quiet and purposely disinterested, his eyes shifting around the diner and avoiding his father’s eye.

“No, I’m not.” The waitress come over to refill Rick’s cup of coffee and eyed how much they each had left of their meal before leaving with a bright smile. Rick watched her go before looking back at Carl. “Carl-“

“It’s okay dad, I’m not a little kid.”

“What did your mother tell you?”

“That you got into a fight and were staying away for a while.” Carl picked at a fry on his plate, his mouth twisted unhappily. “Are you coming home?” Rick looked down at his own plate and found he couldn’t stomach any more.

“No, I don’t think so. Your mum…” he knew he could really hurt Lori right now, could drag her name through the mud and make her only son hate her if he really wanted to. He sighed, he didn’t want to do that, they’d hurt Carl as much as it would Lori and he didn’t want that. “Your mum did something to hurt me, something I don’t think I can forgive.

“I don’t think I can come back, I’m looking to get a place of my own and when I do I want you to come over whenever you want, anytime.” Carl wouldn’t look up to meet his gaze and instead played with his cutlery.

“It was Shane wasn’t it?” he asked his plate, he glanced up at Rick but his eyes darted away. “She’d talk about him a lot, complain about you and…” He looked guilty, Rick realised his stomach dropping. “She’d call him a lot, I looked in her phone once and she was texting him…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly.

Rick leant across the table, enclosing his son’s small hand in his own and held his other palm to his son’s cheek and lifted his head to face him properly.

“None of this is your fault. You ain’t done anything wrong.” Carl looked unconvinced but nodded and leaned into Rick’s touch as he brushed the hair back from his forehead.

Rick gave Carl’s face a gentle pat and leant back in his seat.

“How about we load up on some dessert?” Carl grinned brightly and sat up straight in his seat to wave the waitress over. Rick watched him with a fond smile despite the ache in his chest which felt like betrayal, anger and sadness all rolled into one.

As they shared a slice of Key-lime pie and a rich chocolate tart Carl looked up and spoke around a mouthful of chocolate.

“How’s Daryl?” Rick remembered Daryl standing over him, a shadowed figure made of shadows and highlights in the dim tv room of the small house. The focus he’d observed in the other man in that extended moment before he revealed he was awake.

He’d thought he was dreaming when the barely there touch to his torso had woken him and he’d watched Daryl’s face as he trailed fingers over Rick’s body, his features mostly hidden by darkness, the curves of his features and body lit dimly by the moon outside making him look like he was sculpted from marble.

He’d never been looked at like that before, a focus and intensity to the moment as though nothing mattered in that moment more than the fleeting touch.

He didn’t know what to think about it, didn’t know how to explain away to himself the sharp bolt of electric attraction that had rocked through him at the gentle press of a nipple, at the shadow of touch over his body.

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he had done for nearly a week, shuffled them to the back of his mind where he can think on them at another time, though he hadn’t dared to look with any real attention.

He shrugged at his son.

“Alright, he’s having some problems with his family at the moment but he’s doing alright.” Carl had been curious about their weekend visitor, bubbling with questions whenever Daryl had retreated to the guest room and watching him closely whenever they were in the same room.

Rick wondered if he should be worried about his son’s fascination with the other man, Daryl wasn’t really the type of man any parent wanted their children idolising, rough and abrupt with bad manners.

“Do you think he’d teach me to hunt if I asked him?” Carl looked so hopeful and Rick didn’t have the heart to discourage him.

“You can ask, but if he says no that’s it, no pestering him.” Carl nodded solemnly and the pair drifted away into other conversation topics until the waitress had cleared their dishes and Rick had settled the bill.

 

Back in the car Carl seemed to remember that this wasn’t just a normal evening out and Rick wouldn’t be returning home with him. He sunk low in the seat and looked sullenly out the window chewing on his lip.

He parked out the front of the house and shifted in his seat to face his son. Carl’s head was down and he looked like he was trying to hide behind his bangs. Rick was struck by how similar the movement was to Daryl and he wondered if that was where Carl had picked it up, though he suspected he hadn’t and it was instinctual to Carl instead of a learned habit like it was for Daryl.

“I love you Carl, and I’m here whenever you need me.” He nudged Carl’s face up to look at him. “I’m just a phone call away, any time.” He pulled him into an awkward hug over the middle console of the car and he closed his eyes and breathed in the comforting smell of his boy.

Lori was standing at the door when Carl got out. He pushed past her and into the house without looking back.

A look of heartbreak crossed her face and Rick wanted to feel vindictive, to take pleasure in it but he just found himself too tired.

Lori crossed over to Rick’s car before he could pull away. Rick got out of the car and leant against it as she approached.

She cast a quick glance behind her as she came to a halt and Rick felt bile twist at the thought that Shane might be there, his thought must have shown on his face because she flicked her hair and cast a pointed look at the surrounding cars where Shane’s car wasn’t. 

“What did you tell Carl?”

“Nothing.” Rick crossed his arms over his chest and observed his wife. “He already knew. He’d suspected, felt awful for not telling me.”

Lori breathed out a curse and closed her eyes as though in pain. Rick doesn’t know what made him ask, some part of him which had never been able to resist picking at scabs and pressing at bruises.

“Are you still-”

“No.” she spat angrily, cutting him off. “It was just a stupid…”

“Affair?” he offered, Lori grit her teeth and visibly calmed herself.

“I didn’t want Carl to know until he was older and we’d sorted this all out. I didn’t want to upset or confuse him.”

“You sure as hell weren’t thinking of saving Carl the heartache when you let my partner, my _best friend_ screw you.” Lori threw up her arms in exasperation. Rick knew he was being childish, he wanted to be a calm adult about this but every time he was near her the bile rose and his skin crawled with the need to hurt.

“I cant talk to you when you’re like this Rick.”

“I’m not the bad guy here Lori, you are. I’ve done nothing wrong, I’ve never been unfaithful to you.”

“Not physically.” She muttered but looked instantly as though she wished she could take the words back.

“What?” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and looked pained.

“You never talked to me, you never shared yourself with me. It was selfish but I just… I just wanted to feel cherished.”

“I adored you.” he moved forward, his voice lowering to a hiss in some attempt to keep this private despite the twitching curtains of his neighbours. “I have since I was a kid. I gave my everything to you! if that wasn’t enough than-” he cut himself off, turning on his heel and all but throwing himself into the drivers’ seat.

“Rick!” he ignored her and pulled away from the curb, his hands fisted around the steering wheel and his head loud with the white noise of hurt and anger.

He made his way back to the motel room, he couldn’t spend the night driving through the streets like he wanted to, losing himself to the shadows and the arc of his headlights in the warm evening but he had a long drive, early in the morning.

He stripped off as he crossed the room and closed himself into the bathroom where he stood still under the messy spray of the shower for a while, trying to lose himself in the pale pink tiled space with rust stains around the drains.

  

 

Rick lay his hands flat on the solid metal table. He ran his index finger over a score in the metal, followed the line of it two inches across and back again, it was deepest at one end, fading off towards the other.

The alarm for the door blared through the small concrete room and Rick interlaced his fingers on the table top in front of him and watched as the guard escorted Merle Dixon into the room.

When Merle caught sight of Rick he sucked a breath in through his teeth so it whistled and sneered.

Rick watched as the guard gritted his teeth at the noise and shot Merle a dark look but didn’t say anything. Merle smiled wide at the man, teeth gleaming in the artificial light.

He stood patiently as his cuffs were rearranged and hooked to the solid loop under the table top and sunk down into the hard-backed metal seat like it was a plush armchair. His legs splayed as wide as they could and his hands sat fisted in his lap. Merle watched the guard with sharp eyes, amusement plain across his face as the guard glowered at the prisoner.

“We’re good here.” Rick said pointedly to the guard who shot him a look, opening his mouth to shut Rick down and quote prison guidelines to him but stopped himself at a look from Rick. The guard darted a look at Merle than back to Rick before shrugging and left the room, muttering darkly to himself.

Rick watched him go. When the door closed with a thud and the alarm sounded again Rick shifted his attention from the door to Merle who was watching him, eyes steady and head cocked a little to one side as he studied him.

Rick resisted the urge to shift under the intense scrutiny and instead met the pale eyed stare.

“You just make friends wherever you go, don’t you?” Rick opened, Merle bared his teeth in a grin.

“It must be my friendly disposition.” The grin dropped off his face and he studied Rick carefully, pale eyes steady and cold. “So you’re Daryl’s cop buddy.” He spat ‘cop’ like it the taste of it was vile on his tongue, but there was something about the way he said ‘buddy’, loading the short word with mocking and innuendo which grated on Rick’s nerves. Merle had a way of drawing out words, breaking them down and lengthening them obnoxiously. Rick set his teeth and pushed on.

“He thinks you didn’t do this.”

“He knows I didn’t.” Rick leant back in his chair and studied the other man. Rick had never met anyone who could adapt so easily to his environments, who filled up whatever space he was in. He seemed as calm and in control here in the bland interrogation room as he had in his own yard. It didn’t seem like a good thing, no one should be that comfortable in a prison uniform.  

“So tell me who killed Rodrigues.” Merle scoffed loudly.

“Do I look like a snitch?”

“I ain’t in my uniform.” Merle’s laugh echoed off the tall cement walls disturbingly.

“Boy, you got cop so far up your arse its coming out your ears, you don’t need to be in uniform.” Rick made sure to keep his breaths measured and even. He didn’t want to get frustrated or show any sign that Merle was getting to him, he enjoyed it too much. He tried another angle.

“They’re going to put you away for this.”

“From where I’m sitting, it looks like they already have.” He shook his cuffs so they rattled against the metal table as punctuation.

“Maybe it’s better if you rot in here, at least for your brother.” Merle’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his lip curling up ugly.

“I’ve been looking after him my whole damn life. I’d take a bullet for him.” There was no doubt in Merle’s voice, Rick had seen the same thing in Daryl and it frustrated and fascinated him. These two men were devoted to each other, they honestly believed they would die for each other. It seemed so at odds to the cruelty and violence Rick knew Merle was capable of towards Daryl. Rick crossed his arms over his chest and slumped lower into his seat.

“I found him,” Rick said after a moment. “Walking along the side of the road in the pouring rain. Covered in blood, bruises.” A muscle in his Merle’s jaw twitched but his expression remained still. “He slept for a day just healing, I patched up every cut you gave him, saw every bruise. You say you love him but you’ll do that to him? That ain’t love.”

“You don’t know anything about me or my brother.” Merle’s voice was low and dark, rough like gravel and hung heavy in the quiet room.

“I know your brother would walk on hot coals for you, stop the earth spinning if he thought that’d help you.”

“And I’d do the same for him. We’re all each other’s got.”

“Not anymore.” Merle gave him a long, considering look. When he spoke his voice was low and quiet, weighed down with things Rick didn’t understand but got the feeling he wouldn’t like.

“Is that right?” Rick ignored him and pushed on, pressing hard where he knew it would make an impact, his own voice was steady, a thread of steel through it.

“Was it you or your daddy that put them whip marks all on his back?” Merle’s eyes went briefly wide. There was the jingle of his cuffs against the metal table and Rick imagined he was clenching his fists in his lap. It wasn’t much of a tell but it was enough to know Merle didn’t know about the scars.

He looked towards the door, just so he didn’t have to look at Merle and offered something of an olive branch. “He don’t know I’ve seen them.” He admitted, eyes slipping back to Merle who had regained control of his features and now looked angry, eyes hard and mouth set. Rick glared at the other man “Where were you then?” Rick pushed. “Why weren’t you protecting him then?” Merle’s face was like stone. “I have half a mind to leave you in here, I almost don’t care if you killed Rodrigues or not, got to pay for your sins somehow.”

“Is that what this is? Penance? Places like this is just where you put things you don’t want to deal with no more. It don’t teach us nothing, doesn’t make us better, it just keeps us out of sight and mind.” Rick breathed deeply to refocus he could feel he was getting somewhere.

“You can be sentenced to death for murder.” Merle shrugged one broad shoulder.

“They ain’t going to bring the death penalty up, their case is too shitty for that, if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here checking up on your dear _brother in arms_.” Rick didn’t want to give him anything for that, it seemed likely, the shittiest attorney in Georgia had a strong chance of lowering the charge to life, they’d probably offer it as a plea bargain the moment Merle started talking.

“Who killed Rodrigues?” Merle bared his teeth in a grin.

“The way I hear it, the world thinks I did.” He snorted, loud and obnoxious. “You know who did. Come on Officer Friendly, use that mind of yours, Daryl don’t like ‘em stupid.” Rick spared a second to think how strange his wording of that had been before he reminded himself who he was talking to. Merle loved to play games and mess with people.

For a second he imagined he could feel the phantom touch of fingers over his chest, cool points of contact against the heat of a small room, running across his chest, lingering on a nipple and Daryl’s form looming over him amongst the shadows like a spectre.

“If you can tell me why you’ve been pinned for this I can help.” Merle settled back into the uncomfortable chair, looking perfectly at ease against the hard metal back.

His eyes made a slow, purposeful trek around the room, seeming to linger on the painted over crack on the wall and the shapes the lights cast in the corners.

“If you got any brains at all in that head of yours you’ve already guessed why.”

“Why the hell can’t you just talk straight?”

“I got all the time in the world officer friendly, its life for murder ain’t it? A friend of mine has a friend over New Mexico way who offered him and his a business proposal. Worked well, until people start getting lazy, tweakers start getting greedy and sloppy and suddenly a simple business starts getting complicated. Some complications are easy to clean up, barely break a sweat while doing it.”

 “What business?”

“There’s only two damn businesses that survive no matter what.” He laughed like a hyena “Sex and drugs. And while I have no doubt old Joe has his fingers in a bit of the former, drugs are better long term investments.”

“The Claimers killed one of their own to… clean house.” That made Merle bare his teeth in a grin.

“Thing about guys like that is, to them, everybody’s expendable.” Merles attention shifted back to Rick and after a moment’s pause he continued, voice low and dark. “Now, Joe ain’t no fool, mmhmm, he’s dangerous but no fool. He knew he couldn’t get the jump on me like that lil junkie bitch, so he shuffled some shit around, pulled a couple of strings and next thing we all know, big bad Merle’s been put away. Out of mind and out of sight.”

“He’s got someone on the force?

“Everyone’s got a price tag.” Rick leant forward, resting his forearms on the table, his attention on Merle.

“Why is Rodrigues dead?” Merle shrugged.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He said flippantly, attention lost and Rick huffed out an incredulous breath. He didn’t know why he was shocked by this.

“Are you serious?” Merle laughed.

“Ain’t none of my business.  Daryl and me, we keep to ourselves.” Rick studied the other man, his pale eyes and ragged face. Everything about him was tough, angry, marred by violence. Rick couldn’t see anything of Daryl in him but Merle had left his imprints across Daryl, his words out of Daryl’s mouth, his anger sparking inside his brother.

Merle met his gaze with one of his own, cold eyes taking in everything Rick allowed to show and probably more. He wondered what he saw there, what a man like Merle saw when he looked at a man like Rick.

Merle saw more than most people, his vision sharpened by experience and hardship, a lifetime spent around degenerates and firsthand experience with darkness. Maybe Rick didn’t want to know what he saw when he looked at him.

Rick himself didn’t want to look too closely sometimes.

Merle shook his head and rolled his broad shoulders as best he could with his hands cuffed before him. When he looked back at Rick his face was serious.

“You’re as cold as ice, Officer Friendly.”

Rick took that as his queue to leave. His chair scraped loudly against the concrete floor as he pushed it back and his steps rang like sharp cracks as he moved across the room to the door.

“Daryl always was the sweet one.” Merle’s voice broke through the room, lower and softer than it had been previously, though not without a hint of mocking, unnecessary cruelty on the word ‘sweet’ like it was something a little ugly.

Rick turned to look at the seated man, his own hand raised to the door to knock.

Merle continued. “He was the sweetest damn kid you ever seen. Skinned knees and wide eyes. Wanted to know everything there was to know, just like our mother.” He grunted but didn’t move, “He was too pretty by half growing up, weren’t normal, boy shouldn’t look like that. It was even worst with how sweet he was.” Merle turned his head to look at Rick over his shoulder, eyes hard and assessing. “He weren’t like daddy or me, not one iota of that bastard is in my little brother.” He paused, “You best not hurt him.” With that he turned back around, the dark threat to his words hovering in the space between them.

Rick nodded, though the other man couldn’t see him and knocked to be let out.

 

Rick sunk low into the drivers’ seat, and closed his eyes against the bland institutional prison he’d just left.

He felt tense and strangely tired, some part of him had hoped he’d go in there, antagonise Merle into talking and walk out with a clear and concise confession and would walk away with lighter steps. Merle Dixon neatly tucked into the ‘guilty’ folder and out of Rick’s life.

He’d known it wouldn’t happen like that. His gut had told him it was more complicated than it was being made out to be and he’d amassed enough evidence to support the feeling and get the backing of the sheriff.

He didn’t like the thought of letting one man face the consequences for others, and while a part of him wanted to see Merle take the needle, some instinctual, hateful part of him, the weight of the thought unsettled him. It muddied his view of good and bad, black and white more than he wanted.

He knew nothing was so cut and dry, even him. He still remembered the calm anger which had twisted darkly inside him when he saw Shane and Lori together. Or the white hot feeling of possessive fury he’d swallowed down at the thought of letting Daryl go back to his brother.

It sat closer to the surface now than it ever had before, boiling under his skin not letting him forget, even for a moment that he wasn’t as good a man as he wanted to be.

He couldn’t let Merle rot in there for the rest of his life, or worst, take the needle for something he hadn’t done, no matter how much he hated the man.

He knew it’d hurt Daryl if his brother was taken from him like that. Rick got the feeling he’d been hurt and abandoned in his life and Rick didn’t want to be just another bastard that hadn’t stuck around when things started getting tough.

He shouldn’t care as much as he did, he barely knew the guy but every instinct he’d always listened to as a cop told him to keep the man close.

The ramifications didn’t escape him. He’d known there was something off about the arrest and Merle’s smirking face suggested it was more than just a bad arrest, that there was someone in the station actively working for the Claimers.

His mind strayed to Kendel, moving in on another cops arrest, bumping shoulders in a muted display of dominance with Shane. He was a good cop though, Rick had never doubted he was a brother in arms and would have Rick’s back if the need came. The thought that he might be dirty made his stomach tense.

He cracked his neck and reached for his the phone, biting his lips in indecision before dialling the number as his eyes tracked the people coming and going from the prison absently.

He got through to Parrish and for a second wondered if he’d be able to speak, when he did the words came out gruff and curt.

“It’s Rick, I need you to do something for me and not ask too many questions.”

_Where are you?_

“I went to see Merle Dixon-” there was an intake of breath like Parrish was going to say something but Rick talked over him. “The Sheriff knows.” The silence was telling and Rick took it as a sign to continue. “Look Parrish, I need to know if I can trust you with this, it’s not… It doesn’t look good and we need to keep this quiet. Nobody can know, even you’re not meant to but I need you to do something for me.”

There was movement on the other side of the call, the rustling of fabric and background noises faded before stopping all together with a distant thud. He heard what might have been a sigh before Parrish came back on the line his voice lowered and serious.

Rick nodded to the empty interior of his car. “There’s something off about the arrest for the Rodrigues homicide, and it’s not just that it was my jacket. It doesn’t sit right, I’ve got my file with me but I’ll show you when I get back to town, I went to the sheriff and he wants it looked into on the down low, he doesn’t want anyone knowing in case it turns out to be nothing.” He licked his dry lips and thought about how to say the rest. “Dixon thinks it’s the Claimers cleaning house-”

_What? He’s taking the fall out of gang loyalty?_

Rick shook his head even though the other man couldn’t see him. “No, self-preservation more like, and I think he thinks he’s protecting his brother somehow-”

_His brother’s involved?_

“No.” he didn’t even need to think on that one and there was a tense silence after his curt reply which spoke loudly, though he didn’t know what it said. “Dixon thinks there’s someone at the station.” Parrish let out a whispered _shit_ as the implications of that hit home, it was so low Rick wondered idly if he even realised he’d said it out loud.

“First instinct is to look at the arresting officers, if anyone knew the arrest was bad it’s probably them.”

  1. Rick nodded again to the grey building in front of him. _What do you need me to do?_



“Be subtle, take a look into some of his old cases see if there’s anything there that doesn’t add up.”

_When will you be back?_

“I’m leaving now, I’ll get there in about three hours. Meet me at the diner on Lincoln with what you’ve found and I’ll bring you up to speed.” He paused. “No one can know about this.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed at them tiredly after he hung up taking a moment to try and empty his mind from the thousand thoughts whirling through it before he started the long drive back.

 

As he manoeuvred his way onto the highway from the complicated series of roads that led to the prison he let his mind touch on the other things Merle had said, the things he insinuated with bared teeth and an ugly expression on his face.

Merle had painted his brother as young and pretty, too sweet for their world. Rick thought he’d have more trouble than he did picturing Daryl like that.

Daryl was like a scarred up alley cat who’d learnt that the people were dangerous and the world hurt but still craved the kindness of a warm, safe home.

Everything Merle said seemed to insinuate something. Rick wanted to dismiss it all as games and ribbing at a brother that wasn’t there, but here was something about Daryl, something aside from the lingering looks he caught sometimes and the strange midnight visit all those nights ago. Something in the way he didn’t notice the girls that flirted with him, didn’t seem to notice anyone when they’d been out together or watching tv, maybe he was subtle but Rick couldn’t remember a single flicker of interest, or his attention caught by a pretty girl.

The thought was slow coming, it drifted in and out of focus and it was like seeing a jumbled word he thought he recognised but he couldn’t quite place.

It seemed like an imposition, an invasion of privacy to keep picking at the thought. Wondering if maybe Daryl was gay seemed like a huge liberty he had no right taking.

 _Gay_ , the word didn’t seem to fit in context with Daryl, it didn’t sit right on the hard angles of him. Once he’d had the thought he couldn’t leave it alone, he pocked at it like a bad tooth.

He couldn’t picture Daryl with another man, too uncomfortable and edgy and angling for a fight. He didn’t fit besides any one, his edges too hard and his corners too sharp to sit comfortably with anyone else. Rick didn’t like the thought of it, Daryl with some faceless man. His gut twisted as he tried to picture it, a watered down, softer version of the possessive rage the thought of Merle hurting him had inspired in him.

He thought of some tough, handsome man, he’d have to be handsome to tempt Daryl Rick thought, laying a possessive hand on Daryl, making him vulnerable annoyed Rick in a way he didn’t want to examine.

Rick had never really given much thought to sexuality. He’d been with Lori since they were teenagers and had been happy with her, he’d never once been tempted to stray from their bed so he’d never really had a reason to dissect or try to understand it.

There’d been a woman at the academy who he’d become close friends with, she’d been a short fire cracker who‘d felt she’d had something to prove and was damn well going to prove it.

She’d looked at him like he was a particularly strange child when he’d said he didn’t know any gay people.

She’d been frank and honest, almost aggressively honest, as though she was challenging him with every sentence she said. She refused to sugar coat anything or hide behind euphemisms. He’d been shocked at first, small town views shattered by the brutal honesty of a girl with shadows in her eyes and her chin raised in challenge.

He’d thought about it for a while after their conversation, the thoughts would linger in his small bunk bed and in Lori’s familiar sheets, he’d wonder about desire, dissect lust and examine attraction. He hadn’t been looking for anything in particular and hadn’t found anything which shocked or changed him, but he hadn’t shied away from his friendship with her either because of it which he thought she might have been expecting.

She’d warmed to their friendship after that, slowly becoming comfortable and would let biting, sassy quips and insinuations about the others at the academy pass between them in a whisper sometimes.

Shane had caught her one time, Rick remembered how Shane’s face had contorted with rage and how he’d spat insults at her as he loomed over her, using his height and weight against her.

He’d laughed about it later, body loose and face open with honest amusement, the insult of the comment completely forgotten.

There’d been a cop at the station when Rick and Shane had first started, the whole precinct knew he was gay but nobody said anything. Aside from a few crude comments every now and again nobody had ever made a problem about it. He’d been a good cop and everyone had respected him for that and ignored his private life.

 

He beat Parrish to the diner and was nursing a cup of coffee when the younger man entered. Rick found himself studying the other man as he approached, he didn’t know anything about his private life and there was a gentleness to him which he could believe suggested something, he wondered how he’d feel if the other man was gay, if he was bisexual. He didn’t think he’d treat the other man any different.

He shook the thought away as Parrish sat down, it was none of his business if he was or wasn’t, if Daryl was or wasn’t.

They ate while Rick walked him through everything he had, outlining timelines and summarising reports. Parrish took it all in with a calm face, nodding occasionally between bites of his lunch.

When Rick was finished he Parrish shared what he’d spent the day doing, he’d only had three hours and the task was a delicate and complicated one, Rick wasn’t expecting much, it’d take time and work to sort through the files.

There might not even be anything to find he reminded himself.

 

It was late in the afternoon when they left the diner together. They stood beside Parrish’s car and Rick squinted into the bright glare of the sun as he worked out what to do.

Parrish assured him he’d keep working on the file’s and Rick had to report to the sheriff but aside from that he felt like he was at a bit of a stalemate, there wasn’t much he could do for the rest of the day.

He felt tense and restless, straining at the seams with a need to do something. There was nothing he could do right now except wait.

Parrish drove off and Rick closed his eyes and raised his chin to the warm sunshine as he thought. He’d call in his report to the Sheriff and have a drink somewhere to calm himself.

Nodding now that he had a plan he crossed the road to his car pulling out his phone as he walked.

 

It took him half an hour to wrap up his call to the sheriff, they’d outlined a few ways to go from here. Bronson had hung up on him after growling lowly to _Get a fucking drink and relax. You’ve done good Grimes._

The closest bar was one he didn’t go too much, it wasn’t anywhere near his old house and so it hadn’t featured often for him or Shane.

Clarkson’s bar was fuller than he was expecting for the time of day, the dark interior was cool and calming after being outside and he let himself relax into the universal smell of old beer, grime and worn leather that always seemed to permeate places like this.

Daryl was perched on the far end of the bar, head low over a beer. Rick felt his steps falter before he rolled his eyes to himself and headed over like he would have any other time.

Daryl looked surprised to see him, his eyes flicking over his form as Rick settled himself into the stool next to his, nodding to the bar tender and ordered a beer. Daryl shifted on his seat, looking a little uncomfortable and like he was thinking of standing up but couldn’t decide if he should or not. Rick watched as his eyes darted around the room, lingering on the entrance before focusing down at his beer.

“Hell are you doing here man?” Rick raised his eyebrows in amusement but didn’t say anything, just shrugging one shoulder. Daryl’s neck was stiff and he seemed to be avoiding looking at Rick more than usual. Rick dismissed the thought as paranoid.

 “I went and saw your brother today.” Daryl tensed even more at his side and shot him a quick look over the rim of his glass before his eyes darted away and focused on a spot on the far side of the room.

“Ah hell, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Daryl let out a huff of laughter and watched as the bartender walked away having deposited Rick’s drink.

“Does it matter?” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth absently removing a smear of foam. “He probably did ten things I should apologise for.”

“Or he should.” Daryl shrugged his broad shoulders and didn’t look convinced.

“Same diff. He says a lot of shit.” Rick watched him closely as he fiddled with the condensation on his glass and shot a quick glance at Rick, so fast he almost missed it. “He don’t mean a lot of things he says, just wants to bug you.”

“Your brother doesn’t play well with others.”

“Maybe others don’t play well with us.”

They sunk into silence, drinking companionably. Each lost in their own thoughts.

 

The afternoon passed quickly as it always seemed to do when they were together. The left the bar when the crowd started to grow with the after work groups.

Rick ambled towards the door as Daryl leant over the bar, exchanging a few notes with the bartender for a bottle he slipped into his back pocket before catching up with Rick at the door.

They left their cars in the lot and walked side by side, knocking shoulders comfortably. When they’d passed through the main area of town Daryl produced the bottle he’d bought, taking a heavy swig before handing it to Rick as he fished out a cigarette, which he let hang from his mouth at a jaunty angle between puffs as they continued to walk in the general direction of Rick’s motel.

They made it to the motel carpark. Rick leant against the side of the building as Daryl finished his story, large hands giving aborted movements as he spoke, flicking ash from his cigarette in an absent minded way. Rick was pleasantly drunk, the world was soft focused and warm.

They watched the sun sink low in the sky, the shadows lengthening and the sky turning to hues of rose and purple. 

He felt illicit, like a teenager again sneaking drinks and getting drunk outside. His chest buzzed with the companionship, the friendship new and exciting in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a younger. It all mixed together to make him feel warm and comfortable.  


Daryl looks loose limbed and relaxed, finally looking at Rick again, even if it was only assessing glances like he gave everything else. Rick didn’t fully understand why he was relieved by that.

Daryl flicked the butt of his third cigarette away before gnawing at a thumb nail and kicking at a stone with absentminded focus between swigs from the bottle.

His eyes tracking the birds that moved in the nearby trees and Rick wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

Those sharp eyes flicked to the side and watched in the same instinctive way he watched the birds, as a man left the motel front office and crossed the lot to a blue Sedan.

Rick blames the feeling of youthful rebellion on how he blurts the question out without thinking. 

"Are you gay?" Daryl looks blindsided by the question and Ricks mind reminds him of the hits he'd taken from this man a few days prior. Daryl was a dangerous man, a man who likely wouldn't take a question like that well.

"The fuck-" Daryl recoiled at the words as though struck but righted himself and took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing dangerously. He frowned deeply, his head jerking slightly to the side. "Did Merle...? The fuck did that cunt say to you?" 

"Nothing, it’s nothing. Forget about it-"

"No,” Daryl took another step forward, his face set in anger as he breathed deeply like a bull readying itself to charge. Rick wished he could turn back time. He shouldn’t have picked at the things Merle said, shouldn’t have played into his hands like an idiot. “What the fuck is Merle saying about me?" Rick wondered if he imagined the thread of fear that laced through Daryl’s words, Rick could understand it, rumours were sometimes more destructive than fists. Rick tried to reassure him.

"Nothing. I swear.” He waved the bottle feebly, “It’s the drink, just forget about it." Daryl jerked around, his shoulders up around his ears and hands fisted at his sides. When he didn’t start hitting or shouting Rick let himself relax slightly, loosening the muscles that had instinctually tensed in preparation for a fight.

The sun drifted below the tree line and Daryl cracked his neck and turned back to Rick, eyes wary and chin jutted defensively. Rick couldn’t help but notice the coiled tension through his body that had him poised to fight.

“Merle said it’s the Claimers that killed that guy.” Rick nodded and Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “Then why the fuck ain’t you doing anything?”

“I am.” He said firmly, “We’re working on it, but it’s delicate.”

“Fuck _delicate_! I’ll go fucking sort it out myself!” Rick stepped forward, face intent.

“No you won’t. You’ll stay out of this and let the police do their job.” Daryl’s face contorted.

 “The fuck I will, Merle’s my blood, my kin!” Rick felt his features freeze and the cool, authoritative steel flash though him and he let the hesitant passivity that had settled since his ill thought out question melt alway.

“Just let me do my damned job! Stay away from this Daryl, if you want anything to happen to help your brother it has to be through the law.”

Something twisted in Daryl’s face, he bit hard at the thumb he’d been picking at though the evening and his face seemed to seize with something as his face blanched white.

“I ain’t no damn dog!” his face was dark, he wasn’t looking at Rick though and his jaw was clenched tight. “Can’t tell me what to do. I ain’t gonna do your bidding, sit, stay, _roll over_!” he snarled the words like they were something ugly, his voice cracking slightly on the last command. He looked Rick in the eye and they were wide and panicked. “Fuck all of that.”

He threw the bottle across the lot and Rick watched it arc through the darkening sky to shatter some distance away.

Daryl stormed off without a backwards glance. Rick felt something heavy settle in his gut and he wished he could wind back time. He stepped forward, vague notions of following the other man and making everything right again drifting through his mind, even if it meant taking and giving a few hits.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and when he pulled it out the screen said Parrish. He answered, turning his back on the retreating figure of Daryl and set the mix of emotions that churned in his gut to one side. 


	12. Chapter 12

Daryl felt hot and edgy. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten so angry. He was pissed off about Merle and the whole damn situation but he knew that wasn’t what had made him lash out. He’d felt sick to his stomach when Rick asked him if he was a fag. Daryl found himself angling for a fight and not wanting one at the same time.

Fear had shot through him, the doubts flooded in, what was it about him that made people ask? What had Merle said to make Rick think it?

If it had been Merle at all. Maybe Daryl watching him like some kind of perv when he’d crashed on Daryl’s couch had raised the question. Maybe Daryl had done or said something that made him wonder. He just didn’t know and that drove him crazy.

He’d remembered what he’d done to himself, the way he’d felt when he fucked himself in his bed just days ago.

He felt like he was going to be sick just thinking about it, like it was carved into his skin and Rick didn’t have a choice but to read it.

He’d always felt sort of tense around the other man, their whole acquaintance had put him on edge but in a barely noticeable way, just peripherally, but it was there all the same, a tingling, restlessness that made him feel buzzed. It was worst now, when he thought he might know what it was, or at least that it was related to what he’d done to himself and he hated it for existing, for happening and making him think about all of this.

Rick’d been the picture of calm authority back at the motel telling Daryl to let him do his job. Bathed in the warm colours of the sunset, his hair tousled and sweat glistening at his throat where his shirt curved open and Daryl had _wanted_ and hated himself for it, stomach churning with acid, skin prickling and the hot flush of want warring with the chill of disgust making his head spin.

Those two contrasting sensations rocked through him now as he made the long way back to town for his car and he just wanted to disappear into the woods, forget the world and everyone in it.

It was a fantasy he’d had since he was a kid, living like a wild man off his wits and his skill so deep in the woods no one would ever find him and he wouldn’t have to deal with all of this confusing shit.

He heard the roar of motorcycles coming from behind him and he moved to the far side of the road, close to the trees in case he needed to disappear. They rode in formation with Joe at the front.

Daryl hesitated, eyes shifting to the tree line with Rick’s voice telling him to stay out of it. He stayed still, jutting his chin and planting his feet as Joe spotted him and signalled for them to go on as he and Lou pulled up towards him.

They watched the group move on and waiting in silence till the roar of the engines had faded off.

“Daryl.” Daryl nodded a greeting, eyes tracking between the two.

“We were on our way to a meeting. Join us.”

“What about?”

“Claimer business. Merle’s not here, you can be his representative.” Joe bared his teeth in a wide grin, his sharp eyes fixed on Daryl’s face.

Daryl looked between the two of them, their faces were calm and as open as they always were.

He thought about Rick, glowing in the sunset standing tall and firm telling him to stay out of it.

Daryl could take care of himself, had done his whole life and wouldn’t start relying on others now. It had always been Merle and him before Rick came alone and he was going to do as much as he could to get Merle out.

“Where?”

“Get on, we’ll take you.”

“I ain’t riding bitch. I’ll meet up with you.” Lou boomed a laugh and revved his engine. Joe smiled.

“Where’s your bike?” Daryl nodded down the road he’d been walking.

“Home.” Joe gave him an assessing look before nodding, resetting himself in the saddle of his bike and gave him a curt nod.

“There’s an old barn off the 86, turn off past an old oak and left at a sign for the old Greene farm. You’ll see it.” Daryl nodded and watched as they moved back onto the road and their tail lights sped away before he started down the road again on foot.

He didn’t let himself think too much, kept his mind blank and practiced walking without a sound on the course, loose gravel on the side of the road until he made it to his car. His gut twisted, he knew the sensible thing to do was let the cops handle it like Rick told him, but his gut said he was the only one that would do anything.

Rick had no right ordering him around like that, telling him to sit this one out and let his brothers’ fate rest in the hands of slow moving cops who didn’t give a shit. That was harsh on Rick, he knew, he’d done alright by Daryl but he wasn’t in the mood to be generous, he was smarting from the suggestion and his gut was a pit of snakes warring against the shameful thoughts he wouldn’t let settle.

 

He got to the sign for the old Greene farm later that evening and made the turn away from it towards the barn. He saw it before he reached it, a large red double doored barn with white edging. One of the doors was open and light spilled out into the night and glinting off dark shapes of the motorcycles parked around the clear space in front of the doors.

Merle’s hog rumbled loudly in the quiet night and a figure emerged as he pulled up.

Joe was backlit, standing tall with his hands fisted on his hips.

“You made it then.” There was something dark in his voice and Daryl used the excuse of getting off Merles bike to not look at him too close or read anything into it. Daryl made it to Joe’s side and met his gaze.

Joe was a big, barrel chested man who wore his age well and knew how capable he was, unlike Merle however, Joe hid his darkness. Merle had learnt to wear it like a badge of honour, a sign post that told to world to fuck off. Joe hid his away, earned respect and obedience with a firm hand and the threat of what lay beneath.

Joe clasped a hand down on Daryl shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, pulling him to his side. “We should organise that hunting trip we talked about.” Daryl nodded because he didn’t really know what else to do.

Lights appeared through the trees. They came down the dirt road quickly and Joe and Daryl paused to watch it approach. When a small blue car appeared through the tree’s heading their way Joe shifted his feet.

“You better go on in, I’ll catch up with you.” Joe didn’t look away from the car as he gave Daryl a nudge towards the door.

Daryl entered the barn, glancing around he saw everybody was towards the back surrounding a truck and not paying him any attention. His entrance was masked by the music from a radio and the babble of their voices and laughter.

He lingered in the doorway as the car pulled up and a hurried looking man with a sweaty face jumped out. He was twitching like a tweaker and running his hands through his hair as he loped across the clearing into the light spilling from the barn. Joe moved to meet him, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Their voices travelling in the still night.

“The hell are you doing here?” Joe’s voice was a low growl just loud enough to reach Daryl.

“Your boy Bones was arrested.”

“So get him off.” Joe rumbled, the man shook his head and sunk his fingers into his hair and pulled.

“I can’t get near him. They’re fucking up to something!” he paced before Joe in agitated circles. “One little bitch rookie is looking though old casefiles and no one’s saying anything.”

“If there anything for them to find?”

“Nothing obvious! Aside from Dixon.” He rounded on Joe finger raised and pointed at him angrily. “You fucked me over on that, the whole thing was a goddamn disaster and now I’m in hot fucking water! It had to be fucking Grimes didn’t it?”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t do your job.”

“I can do my job just fine! It’s all just gotten so fucked.” He rubbed his hand over his face roughly, Joe stood, unmoved in front of him. “If your boys weren’t so fucking stupid and got us all into this mess it’d be fine, I’d be able to clean up your messes like I usually do.”

Joe let out a growl and moved forward like a shadow. He loomed over the other man and spoke so low Daryl almost missed it.

“Sort. It. Out. Or you won’t like what happens.” Joe turned on his heel and stalked towards the open door, leaving the other man in the halo of light from the barn.

Daryl slipped away from the doorway and moved further into the barn. Leaning against a beam he watched Joe cross the space. Joe didn’t look surprised to not see him with the other men and he angled his steps to approach him, tension easing a little from his neck and being replaced once more with the congeniality he always projected.

A hand clamped down on the nape of Daryl’s neck as Joe pulled Daryl close.

“Get a beer with me Daryl.” he seemed un-phased by his conversation with the cop outside, he walked across the barn at a leisurely pace, comfortably familiar with Daryl as he led him towards the back of the barn.

The whole gang was there, some milled around a large pickup truck parked towards the back entrance to the barn. They laughing and talking comfortably as they worked, two men were focused under the hood of the car, others sorted boxes and materials Daryl couldn’t make out in the bed of the truck and back seat of the cab.

A tall reedy kid with a shaved head and dark eyes Daryl recognised as Harley, handed them both a beer as they made it closer.

Joe moved towards the kid and leant in close to talk to him as Daryl opened his beer and cast a quick glance around the men surrounding him. He felt tense, his whole body wired with vigilance.

Lou nodded to him from where he knelt beside the front wheel of the truck, Daryl nodded back but turned away before Lou got it in his head to start a conversation.

“Let’s take a walk Daryl.” Daryl nodded and followed, watching as Joe paused at the side of the car to talk with a man with a neck tattoo before leading Daryl out the door at the back of the barn. “Your brother probably told you I had a proposition for you.” Daryl nodded and paused on the threshold of the barn and leant against the doorway.

Joe planted himself where he could keep an eye on the goings on inside but his focus remained on Daryl.

“I like your brother. Do you know what he does for us?” Daryl shrugged one shoulder and kept his face relaxed. He only had a vague notion of what Merle did for the Claimers, what he’d done since he returned from the army -he was muscle, a threat and he was the man that got shit done. People had been scared of Merle since he was a kid and demonstrated he wouldn’t take shit from anyone, it served him well as an adult.

“Your brother is what I would crudely call an _enforcer_.” Joe sounded amused by the term, sending Daryl a wry smile. “Merle is damn good at what he does, don’t get me wrong.” He smiled a sharp toothed smile and looked impressed despite himself. “He could make any squirrel-rat-bastard pay up.” The pride shuttered from his face and he looked serious. “But in the end he is only loyal to himself. And I respect that, I do! But I need more than that from my boys, I need to know that they would do anything for me, would kill if I told them to. I won’t begrudge a man his freedom and I admire his skills, hell, he’s more skilled than any of my boys in there.” His eyes travelled to the bustle inside and Daryl wondered if the guy that died, that started all of this, wasn’t meant to die and it had been a clumsy roughing up.

Joe turned his eyes back to Daryl. “But I need loyalty. I need commitment. You want to get anywhere in this world you have to know who is loyal to you and why.” Daryl shifted against the door jamb.

“What you want with me than?” Joe smiled, wide and friendly.

“You? You’re not like your brother, you’re a different _breed_ , loyal, keen-eyed. You ain’t swayed by the goods or a pretty face.” His voice lowered as he assessed Daryl with sharp pale eyes. “I’ve seen the way you watch people and you could be so much more than you are but it’s your brother holding you back, ain’t it?”

“So you want me as an enforcer?” Joe laughed, a booming pleased sound which bounced through the dark night.

“Oh no Daryl, you see, you and me? We’re the same. We’re different. We do what we have to do to advance our interests. Sometimes obstacles get in our way, problems come up and it takes more than enforcement to fix things.” Daryl narrowed his eyes, watching Joe carefully as his stomach knotted. Merle knew this was coming, had wanted to keep Daryl away from this. Daryl had a feeling he knew exactly where Joe was going and what he wanted from Daryl. Daryl who kept quiet, kept away from people and would do anything for those he was loyal to and that could be a dangerous combination when exploited.

“Why you being so coy?”

“That’s what I like about you! Your brother dances like a fiddler but you’re as blunt as a club and I like that, people know where they stand with you.” He looked at Daryl like a proud father would. “I think you can fix problems that come up. Keep unnecessary mess in line.”

“You want a killer. Why not Merle?” Joe waved that away with one large hand. The thick chain bracelet glinted in the light from the barn and Daryl found his attention caught by the flash of metal.

“Too hot blooded. He likes the merchandise and the girls a little too much. You’re capable-”

“I’m not-”

“I see it in you. You’re skilled, clever.” He moved closer, shifting into Daryl’s space and ensuring his attention is fixed entirely on him. “This world treats men like you like animals. Why not change it? Stop playing by their rules. After all, why hurt yourself, when you can hurt other people?” Joe’s eyes shifted to the dark fields and wide dark sky. “You can’t go it alone in a world like this, we like to pretend otherwise but we all know it’s the truth deep down, this world is more dangerous than we all like to think.” He looked back at Daryl, meeting his eyes.

A loud shout of laughter came from inside and they turned as one to look inside.

Joe clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned back to the barn. They were still working under the hood but it looked like they’d finished packing the car.

“So what exactly do you need me for?”

“You’ll have to run a few pickups, transportation, but we all have to do that, some jobs just need to be done. Your real job will be to remain apart from the main group, keep an eye on everything, make sure the line is toed, liberties aren’t taken.”

“Is that what the kid did?” Joe hummed in agreement, attention elsewhere.

“Boy couldn’t keep his hand out of the cookie jar, but when he started trying to move the merchandise on the side we had problems. That’s the kind of thing you’ll handle.” Daryl nodded.

“I’m going to take a slash.” He jerked his chin towards the darkness outside. Joe waved him off though he felt his gaze on his back until he turned out of sight.

Outside Daryl leant back against the side of the barn. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He felt wired with a rush of adrenaline which felt out of place with the calm, comfortable comradery that existed back in the barn.

The dark field stretched out in front of him, the earth glowed under the pale light of the moon. It was still and quiet, the only noise breaking through the night was from the barn at his back.

The air was cooling, though the heat of the day lingered there was the promise of coolness to the night which almost made him forget about the suffocating heat of the day, the way the heat clung to him, made him feel slick and gritty like a day spent in the woods. The heat had made sweat glisten across Rick’s exposed throat and his hair curl in ringlets against the back of his neck.

He sighed, exhausted and shook the through from his mind and relax back into the rough wood.

It was an old barn, the wood dry and rough to the touch. It was well looked after and stood proudly in the landscape. Isolated enough to be a good place to conduct business for the Claimers. He’d bet his crossbow it couldn’t be traced to any member of the gang, probably didn’t belong to anyone. It was so far out and down too many twisted roads off the highway to be found without being looked for.

He could take the job, find out as much as he could about how they operated and maybe get evidence to get Merle off the hook.

He snorted to himself, evidence, he’d been spending too much time around a cop, it was starting to rub off on him.

Shaking his head to the darkness as though to dismiss the thoughts he pushed off from the side of the barn and moved back towards the halo of light that spread out from the doorway.

The noise inside the barn was different, the radio had been silence and the easy familiarity was gone. In its place there was shouting and the sounds of a fight. Daryl slowed his steps and cocked his head to listen. He couldn’t make out anything that was said but as he moved closer a hush descended.

Joe was talking, grandstanding in front of the gang and Daryl shifted to hide himself more fully in the shadows.

“You screwed up asshole. You hear me? You screwed up.” Daryl moved so he could see into the barn, there was a man on his knees in front of Joe and the rest of the Claimers formed a loose semicircle in front of them like an audience at a show. Joe was still talking, big words and grand statements.

Daryl shifted further to the side so he could see more clearly. His gut twisted when he recognised the figure at Joe’s feet and the gun to his head.

“…balancing of the whole damn universe.” There was a click of the gun, loud in the silent barn and Daryl felt his heart rise to his throat. The gun looked big and intimidating against the tanned skin of Rick’s temple. Rick wasn’t cowering, wasn’t talking or moving like most people would, he was made or carved stone, head up and eyes locking with every one of his witnesses.

“Yo.” Daryl almost didn’t recognise his own voice, a choked noise more than a word. He emerged from the darkness and wished he had a weapon on him, something so he was more than just a man. “Hold up. Just hold up.” Joe looked at him placidly, some of the others shot him looks which varied from annoyed to curiosity. When a murmur broke out Joe silenced it with a look.

“Say your piece Daryl.”

“Let him go, he’s good people.” Rick was looking at him, his pale blue eyes focused on him and Daryl didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t enough to fix this, he could only prey Joe saw some sense in not killing a cop.

Joe made a tsking noise and shook his head sadly at Daryl.

“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one.” He pressed the gun against Rick’s temple again and bile rose in Daryl’s throat. “This man, this _cop_ is looking to ruin everything we’re working towards and you say he’s good people?” he shook his head again and his features turned dark and ugly. “See that right there is a lie. A goddamn lie.” He locked eyes with Daryl. “I’m disappointed with you Daryl.” and he sounded it, he sounded like a father whose son had made one too many bad decisions. Joe’s attention shifted to the other men. “Teach him fellas, teach him all the way.” Terry moved like a snake, turning quickly and landing a solid blow to Daryl’s gut, forcing him to double over. Another hit landed to the centre of his back and his legs crumbled at the impact, he hit the ground.

The hits came immediately. Dust kicked up with the scuffing boots that braced before landing kicks. He could taste dirt and blood in his mouth and the earth smelt dry and old.

He curled into a ball and tried to ride out the hits as best he could. It hurt less if he was a soft target.

A shot rang out like a thunder clap in the room. Fear and grief shot through Daryl’s body and hurt more than the kick to his solar plexus that landed in the next breath. He stilled, letting his body grow limp and move with the blows that came as he collected his breath, shifted his body just enough to gain purchase and brace himself.

He shouted through the pain as he launched himself up and towards one of his attackers. The momentum and the surprise was to his advantage and he had Billy against the side of the truck before he had a chance to fight back.

He aimed for the kidney, landing three blows before he was pulled back from behind and twisted against the drivers’ side door.

He caught a glimpse of two bodies struggling. His eyes scanned the ground in the second his view was clear and saw no body on the ground. Hope clawed at his throat as his eyes looked back at the two fighting forms.

He imagined he could see the familiar tousled curls of Rick but he didn’t know if that was real or just hope and pain showing him what he wanted to see.

Dan swam into view and Daryl had a split second to decide how to fight back. He reared back as best he could and slammed forward head butting him hard enough to daze. Pushing the body away he fought his way through. Hits landed, pain sparking across his body with each blow and his hands hurt from the hits he managed to place. A detached part of his brain thanked Merle for teaching him to fight when he was a kid, and his daddy for teaching him to take a hit. The best way to learn how to fight is to learn how to lose and that lesson had stuck.

There was shouting and the men attacking him were distracted for a moment. Heat was building in the room and the space brightened. His vision was blurry but as he twisted his head to the side he saw the bright flare of fire climbing up the walls.

He was pulled away from the truck and he grappled with the man who grabbed him. Behind him he heard the truck starting and more fights breaking out.

He planted a hit which impacted with a snap and sent his attacker to the ground, Daryl struck out while he could, kicking his skull hard and feeling a crunch beneath his boot. He was pulled to the ground from behind and he fought with everything he had, trying to see through the blood which blurred his vision.

The fire was growing, it arched above him across the ceiling. He landed a hit to the head of the man above him, clawing at the face when he didn’t back off.

The truck sped past, moving fast toward the back door, there was the crack of the truck impacting the wall and moving through. The noise of the fire built, cracking and roaring along with the blood that rushed in his ears. There was the sound of crunching metal and he wondered if the truck had hit something outside.

The wood of the barn groaned and half of the building seemed to fold in on itself, weakened by the flames which consumed the old dry wood. The building seemed to fold like a house of cards or a blanket fort overhead.

Daryl rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled to stand up. Debris was starting to fall from above and spread the flames faster. A beam crashed to the ground two feet away and Daryl fell backward with a startled gasp that sent fresh pain racing through him. He saw the man he’d thrown off moments ago crushed under the weight of the burning wood.

Daryl staggered back, climbing to his feet and moved through the falling debris.

His hands rose to protect his head as another beam fell towards him. He pushed it away and kept moving, not pausing or letting his body feel anything except the need to escape.

A part of the wall had collapsed and he moved through the thickening smoke towards the hint of darkness beyond which he knew was the open fields that surrounded the farm.

When he hit the cool clean air of the outside he kept moving, staggering through the dark, bright hot heat at his back as he moved forward until his legs couldn’t carry him any further.

When he reached the tree line he stopped and turned to look behind him. There were a few other figures in the darkness standing still like statues to watch the barn burn, like he was.

There isn’t silence. Fire is anything but silent. There was the sound of splintering wood, spluttering flames, the whoosh of air and the crack of the building.

It seemed so loud, filling in the silence between the ringing in his ears, filling his head with noise and chaos.

His lungs burned with the smell of ash and burning wood. Bodies too probably, he remembered the way they had looked, slumped figures on the ground, crushed under the structure. He thought he might have tripped over someone on the way out and his breath stuttered at the thought.

The smell clung to his skin, seeped in through the pores, coated his throat and clogged his nose. It had started out insidious, almost unnoticeable, but now it seemed impossible that the world had ever existed or would ever again without the sharp, thick scent overlaying everything.

His hands felt numb and he knew they were burned. He didn’t want to look down and see how bad it was.

The cool night air hurt against his injuries and seemed extra cold against his back in counter point to the flames in front of him, even from this distance.

It was beautiful. The large old barn glowing like the sun, darkness all around and the bright light of the flames catching on the various people standing still as statues to watch the destruction.

Another part of the structure crumbled with a thunderous roar, the shape of the barn more of a suggestion now than a solid form, the walls collapsing in on themselves, the skeletal structure jutting out amongst the flames like charred bones of a corpse.

There was the crunch of steps behind him and he couldn’t believe he heard it over the roar of the fire and the ringing in his ears. He turned his head sharply, eyes zeroing in on the figure that approached him, readying his hurt hands to defend himself if he had to.

He recognised Rick’s shape in the darkness behind him before he recognised the man, some part of his brain registering the older man’s outline and labelling it as _safe_ even before he was properly identified.

Rick’s face was dark with soot which caught in his wild curls and turned his pale shirt into a grey mess. His bare arms were streaked with blood and ash and he favoured his right leg, hesitant to put any weight on it even as he pushed forward.

Daryl’s blood roared loudly in his ears and his throat felt tight with relief and joy to see the other man, he felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes away not that he could see him clearly.

He came to a halt beside Daryl, his eyes roving over his face as though checking to see he was okay before shifting to the burning barn.

The firelight danced across his features, catching on his eyes and casting strange shadows across his angular face, getting lost in his beard.

They stood in silence, watching the building burn and the people who milled around, distracted by the destruction.

There was the sound of sirens far off but drawing closer. The high pitched wail flicking in and out of Daryl’s hearing. He wondered if he should go, get on his bike and high tail it out of there while he still could. Force Rick onto the back of it if he had to, the both of them disappearing and divorcing themselves from the cluster fuck this had become.

One look towards Rick dismissed that idea as foolish. Rick was a cop, this was on his watch and he may not be in uniform but he was doing his job tonight, could possibly lose his job with how shitty everything turned out, but either way Rick would want to see this through and screw it all Daryl was going to stand with him till it was all over.


	13. Chapter 13

Rick sat on the hard metal ledge on the end of the ambulance. There was a chill to the air now that the fire had been mostly extinguished.

Rick watched absently as the shadowed, hulking figures of the firefighters in uniform wandered the wreckage of the old barn dousing embers as they discovered them. The smell of burning was thick in the air and the smoke seemed to hang heavily in the night as deep purple clouds against the dark sky.

The lights from the police cars and emergency vehicles lit the place in an eerie fashion. Lighting the scarred bones of the barn strangely and getting lost in the fields around the farm or glinting dangerously off the tree’s surrounding the property.

Daryl appeared at Rick’s side, he was frowning down at him, pale eyes watchful. Without a word Daryl pulled a bandana from his back pocket and the bottle of water Rick was holding limply in front of him.

He doused the bandana with water and handed the wet fabric to him. Rick looked down at the offering before reaching for it. With a pointed look from Daryl he lifted it to wipe his face, smiling into the damp cloth as he worked the soot away.

Satisfied Rick was doing what he was told, Daryl lowered himself to the bard metal ledge beside him with a grunt, His eyes scanning the chaos in front of them.

“Dixon. Come with me.” Rick’s eyes snapped to Officer Pearson who appeared from around the ambulance. He looked uncomfortable, body braced for a fight and shooting curious glances at Rick.

Daryl’s head was down, face hidden by his hair and the nighttime shadows. As Rick watched he saw Daryl’s shoulders slump and his head bob in a nod before he shifted to stand up. The movement was slow as he no doubt tried to work around his injuries.

Rick’s gut twisted as he thought about the beating Daryl had received. He hadn’t had enough time to heal completely from the last time, a body needed time to heal and Rick worried Daryl hadn’t had that.

“What’s this about?” Rick asked, voice firm and low. Pearson’s eyes darted to him.

“We’re taking him in.” Rick glanced at the few Claimers that had lingered or been tracked down after the police arrived. Those that weren’t dead at least he reminded himself, eyes shifting back to the burned skeleton of the barn.

“Why? He’s injured, he wasn’t a part of this.”

“I’ve been told-”

“You’re not taking him in. He’s going to a hospital.” Rick narrowed his eyes at Daryl whose head had jerked up and was looking at Rick as though he was going to argue. “I’ll talk to the sheriff.” Rick told Pearson.

Pearson looked uncertain and shifted uncomfortably on the spot. His eyes darting around before returning to Rick.

“I-”

“Go.” His voice was lower than he meant it to be, husked by the smoke and exhaustion and the thread or anger that surged through him. He watched Pearson give a nod and turned on his heel before striding off into the crowd.

“You shouldn’t’a done that.” Daryl’s voice was low and his head had ducked back down, hiding his features again.

“I know you have no part in that truck of drugs we found back there.” Rick nodded towards the truck some way off, on the other side of the burned earth surrounded by police. He thought he could see Candice not far away, instructing her own team of people she’d pulled in for this.

Daryl shrugged.

“They don’t.”

“They weren’t working the case, I was.”

A paramedic approached them with hurried steps and a concerned frown on his face. He smiled, a broad white teethed smile when Daryl remained still.

“Please don’t move.” he sounded harried but amused, he flicked a glance at Rick. “I turn around for one minute and he disappeared!” he laughed, a soft breathy laugh.

Rick slanted a look at Daryl who was watching the fire fighters still working through the ruined barn with lips pursed.

The paramedic looks uncomfortable, gaze darting between the two of them, lingering on the multiple injuries visible on them both. When nobody spoke the paramedic flashed another bright smile and clapped his hands.

“Well, you’re both going to the hospital.” Daryl tensed beside him and looked like he was preparing to argue.

Rick rested a hand on Daryl’s knee and squeezed it firmly to halt the protests he knew were coming. He nodded to the paramedic and allowed the man to get to work.

 

Daryl sat straight backed and glaring for the ride to the hospital. His hands clenched against the edge of the gurney bed as he rode out the bumps along the drive.

He narrowed his eyes and glared ugly anytime one of the paramedics glanced in his direction. The look became darker the one time they approached him. They’d backed off only after they’d determined he wasn’t about to keel over from some hidden injury and left him be.

Rick watched from his own seat and couldn’t help the amused quirk of his lips. The ride was awkward, the two paramedics were uncomfortable and didn’t hide it very well. Rick didn’t realise he could be so relieved to see Daryl so out of his comfort zone but so obviously in one piece.

 

The nurses at the hospital were a calm, well organised machine. They were already prepared for their ambulance, having already begun work on the Claimers in need of medical attention.

Rick was led away from Daryl and into a curtained off bed towards the back of the ER where he was looked over but mostly left alone.

Hours later, he was scanned and x-rayed. The nurse pursed her lips and hummed disapprovingly as he buttoned up his shirt and organised himself to leave.

“I can’t allow this. If you discharge yourself you’ll be doing it against medical advice.”

“I know, but I need to go to the station.”

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’ve finished my work.” Her face was pinched and she looked unimpressed by his cop-voice. She pointed at the bed with an uncompromising look.

“Let the doctor take one more look at you.” She turned sharply and strode away, closing the curtains with a flick of her wrist before he could say anything.

Rick eyed the swaying curtain and perched himself thankfully back down onto the edge of the bed. His whole body hurt, each breath was a struggle and the world was muted and muffled. He should stay, every part of his body was screaming at him to sink back onto the mattress and take the pain relief they kept offering him.

He’d only gotten scattered reports from the police in the ER standing guard over the Claimers under arrest and the not knowing was more frustrating than the water-logged feeling in his ears.

When he arrived, the doctor looked as unimpressed as the nurse had been, though he lacked her firm control. He relented after Rick assured him he wouldn’t move from his desk, would return for his follow up appointments and would return at the slightest sign of his injuries deteriorating.

By the time he’d agreed to it all he felt like a child that’d been grounded. He stewed over it the whole ride to the station with Clive. It felt like it went for hours and exhaustion clawed at him alongside the annoyance. He closed his eyes and rested his head back as he measured his breaths, pushing the boundaries of his endurance. He pressed along the edges of the pain, keeping his breaths shallow and relearning how to breathe with a tender body.

Clive darted looks at him but he kept quiet. One of the men from the barn was in the back, a fresh bandage on his hand and a smattering of plasters across his face and a split lip. Rick vaguely recognised him as one of the guys sent to the truck before the shit hit the fan.

He hadn’t known what he was getting into when he’d gotten Bones to talk. He’d expected to find some evidence, maybe a place to keep an eye on and use later to their advantage. He hadn’t expected find a barn full of Claimers going about their business and feeling freely homicidal.

He’d gotten the radio call back to Parrish before he’d been seen and had held onto the hope that backup was coming the whole time.

 

The station was crowded when they arrived. Everyone on shift and anyone able to come in had been put to work when they realised how much needed to be done and how big this actually was.

He made a beeline to the locker room. He changed into clothes that didn’t smell overwhelmingly of smoke or have frightening smears of blood and ash he could barely tear his eyes away from. He would have preferred a long hot shower and a bed but the change of clothes would have to do for now. His hair still smelled of smoke and the various wipe downs he’d received at the hospital had left his feeling gritty.

Leaving the locker room he crossed to the sheriff’s office. Readying himself to make his own report when he saw Daryl’s slumped figure handcuffed beside a desk. Rick changed his route and came to a halt in front of the other man whose head remained bowed.

Daryl’s hands were heavily bandaged, another peeked out from under his torn and dirty shirt and leather vest. Rick knelt in front of him, though his body complained. He wondered hazily if his legs would even support him as he sunk down.

“How long you been here?” Rick spoke lowly, voice just loud enough to reach Daryl over the noise of the bullpen.

Daryl shrugged one shoulder though he tilted his head up so he could look at Rick properly.

“Not long, twenty minutes.” Rick nodded, pulling himself up with the aid of the desk and a pained groan.

“I’ll get these cuffs off.”

He got his own keys from his desk and released Daryl’s bandaged wrists. He was careful of Daryl’s hands, holding them as lightly as he could and placing them down on his lap as though they were fine glass.

Daryl looked amused by the care but smiled his thanks. A small curve of his mouth which he tried to hide under his fringe.  Rick remembered how he’d appeared in the barn, a single man standing up for him against the Claimers. His own Guardian Angel he thought now, he even had the wings to prove it. He hadn’t known if Daryl would make it. He’d seen him disappear under the attack of the other men and had been sure this time, he wouldn’t be able to walk away. Seeing him outside, the fire light dancing across him had been more of a relief than he realised it would be. Somehow this man had become very important to him.

Daryl opened his mouth to say something but he froze in his seat, his body growing still and a small frown settled on his features. Daryl’s attention was focused across the room, his body perfectly still. Rick followed his line of sight but couldn’t see whatever had caught his eye.

“What’s he doing here?” Daryl jutted a chin in a nod but otherwise remained still. Rick looked across the room again, this time spotting Lenny as he moved to the room beyond.

“Lenny?” Daryl flicked a look at him, confused.

“He was at the barn, saw him talking with Joe.”

“Half the station was at the barn-” Daryl shook his head to dismiss that.

“No, before.”

The implications crept up Rick’s spine like a chill. He looked towards the adjoining room where Lenny was. He scanned the rest of the room as though looking for something but he simply took in the scene.

“You’re sure?”

Daryl sent him a dark look but nodded. Rick didn’t need to see it, Daryl had keener eyes then most and no reason to lie about something like this.

It made sense, Kendel and Lenny had worked together for years, almost as long as Rick and Shane. Maybe they worked together in whatever they did, maybe it was all one or the other but if their partnership was anything like Rick’s had been with Shane, it wasn’t hard to imagine if one was involved the other wasn’t.

Kendel was in the Sheriff’s office, they still didn’t have anything solid and they were trying to minimise the talk around the station. Rick entered without knocking, closing the door securely behind himself and glanced at the windows to make sure the blinds were closed.

“The hell do you want?” Kendel was slouched low in the chair facing Bronson’s desk. With the blinds closed the room was dimmer than usual the pale morning through the window casting weak light into the room, making Kendel look pale in the shadows.

“Is Lenny in on it?” Rick kept his voice low so it didn’t travel into the next room.

“In what? Why the fuck am I here Grimes?” He was angry but Rick didn’t feel like playing nice. His body hurt from the beating, his ear still felt hollow and each breath reminded him of pain, ash and betrayal because Joe was enough of a bastard to have someone on the inside.

“Is Lenny in on whatever deal you made with the Claimers?”

“I don’t have a deal with the Claimers. The fuck are you on about?” Kendel’s pale blue eyes were wide and angry but Rick couldn’t see the lie.

“There’s no point lying.”

“I’m not lying!”

The door opened and Bronson entered. He looked surprised to see Rick looming over Kendel but he closed the door behind himself and crossed the room to stand behind his desk.

Rick turned his head to look at the other man but kept his body angled towards Kendel, his shoulders back and his hands fisted at his side, ready to fight in a second if he had to.

“Daryl saw Lenny at the barn before it all kicked off. He was talking with Joe Kober.” Bronson gave him an assessing look.

“And you trust him on this?”

“I do.” He raised his chin and didn’t break eye contact. After a moment Bronson nodded once, sunk into his seat and lifted the receiver on his phone.

“Bring Campbell in here.” He cocked his head as he listened. “What do you mean he left?” Rick’s eyes darted to the window but the closed blinds stopped him from seeing anything. “Did he say where he was going?” Bronson paused and Rick turned to look at him. “Goddamn it.” Bronson growled lowering the phone.

Rick was across the room and out the door before he said anything else. His eyes darted around the station though he knew Lenny was already gone. Daryl was on the edge of the chair at Rick’s desk chewing on a thumbnail. When he spotted Rick he sprung up and waited for him to approach.

“He went through that door then came back out and went out the front.” Rick looked towards the door Daryl had pointed to and felt his insides twist. It was the holding cells, where Joe and the other members of the Claimers that weren’t dead or being questioned were being detained.

Rick wove through the desks, a rush of adrenaline pushing him forward as he held himself back from the run he wanted to break into. He was attracting attention he didn’t want but he couldn’t stop himself from hurrying.

He rounded the corner to the holding cells and knew before he’d made it past all the cells that Joe was gone. He cursed furiously and stormed back into the bullpen.

Bronson was standing at his door scanning the room. When he saw where Rick emerged from and the look on Rick’s face his eyes widened. Bronson crossed the space to meet him and Rick saw the station looking in their direction, some subtle, others blatant.

“Kober’s gone. Lenny went there before leaving.”

Bronson turned to face the room, when he spoke it was with a booming, calm voice which reached every ear in the station.

“Joe Kober has escaped. We believe he has been assisted by Officer Len Campbell.” murmurs erupted through the room but Bronson spoke over them, issuing orders.

Rick exchanged a nod with Daryl across the room before he left towards the carpark at a trot.

He was at the car before he realised Shane was beside him. He fumbled the keys but Shane said nothing, just crossed to the passenger side door and met Rick’s eyes across the roof of the car.

“I’m coming with you. You’re injured and I’ll be damned if I let you go without me.” Rick wanted to argue, to hurl abuse at the other man but he knew he didn’t have time. He got into the car and turned the radio on with its usual high beep as it turned on.

The crackle of the radio was already going. Calls going to every cop in the county. As they pulled out onto the road amidst the carnival of police cars. Shane had the radio in his hand, his jaw set as he listened intently.

“Rosewood and Hudson.” He barked when the call came from a patrol car. Rick moved effortlessly thought the streets. He saw the car turning off Hudson and towards the highway and followed.

It was Lenny’s car, a classic he’d fallen in love with at a second hand dealership three years ago. They’d teased him about it at the family picnic that year and he’d taken it with a broad smile and chest puffed up with pride at his new ride.

When they made it onto the highway the chase became easier and more dangerous. Rick concentrated on weaving through the other vehicles, his eyes fixed on the silver blue car in front of him.

Shane was still listening to the radio even as he pulled on his tight black gloves. It was so familiar having Shane beside him it gave Rick a strange feeling of vertigo, of being at once _wrong_ and _right_.

The radio buzzed with calls, the chase was on and being broadcast though the airways. Back up was around them and support was moving in from everyone on patrol.

They couldn’t get out of this, Lenny had to know that. There was no way they could escape in a high speed chase, nowhere they could disappear without their faces being splashed across the newspapers. No matter how far in either direction they headed they would be caught.

He supposed they’d try to make it to Mexico. That was the only possible way they could get out of this without ending up in jail or a grave.

The road turned off onto a wide, empty country road. Each side was fields that stretched out in every direction, and the sky above looked endless, filling up the windshield.

They got close enough to brush bumpers. The silver blue car swerved to try and lose them but Rick kept close to their tail. There was flashing lights behind him and he chanced a glance to see two cars driving side by side at his rear.

He only slowed when he saw the pair of police cars further down the road and the strip of dark across the tarmac which he knew would be road spikes. He let Lenny’s car push away from him and watched as they flew over the spikes.

The car glided, skidding over the road as though on ice before momentum sent the car onto its side with a crash. It kept moving and Rick watched as his own car screeched to a halt as it flew into the field to the side.

It rolled, bouncing across the ground, pushing up clouds of dust and shattered glass before coming to a slow stop, rocking in its place and turned over onto its roof with one final metal-crunching crash.

There was a long moment of quiet before Shane whispered at his side.

“Holy shit.”

Rick got out of the car, aware peripherally of Shane climbing out the passenger seat and moving in time with him, gun at the ready, towards the side of the road.  They moved in tandem with the other police, guns raised and steps sure as they all slowly moved closer to the roadside.

The crunch and groan of metal warned them before the figure of Lenny tumbled out of the front seat, he was firing before he’d even gotten up properly.

They returned fire, a cacophony of shots which filled the quiet strip of road like thunder.

Lenny was shooting with a kind of desperation, his shots wide and unmeasured. Rick could see his eyes wide and panicked in his pale face. It was the face of a man cornered with no way out. Rick watched with a furl of sadness inside him as Lenny convulsed at the impact of the shots.

He didn’t know how many shots hit him, if his own landed or Shane’s or any of the other cops, there was no way to know. He could only watch as he shuddered with the impact and fell limply backwards, falling like a rag doll against the side of the overturned vehicle.

The tall figure of Joe rose up like a demon from the other side of the car, a double barrel shot gun in his hands and a grim look on his face.

Rick’s attention snapped to him from the crumpled form of Lenny and his aim shifted smoothly to the new threat.

Joe started to fell backwards under the storm of bullets that rained down on him. He felt a moment of victorious pride, a surge of vengeance and a rush of relief in the split second before he heard the crack of the shotgun and felt the jerk of his own body.

He had enough time to tilt his head down to the point of impact before it started to burn. The heat intermingled with tendrils of pain which raced though his body, consuming him whole. He raised a hand and turned on the spot towards Shane. There was a slick hot feeling under his fingers and a hard, hot pain which radiated out from his side.

Shane’s eyes were wide, his gun dropped limply at his side and colour seemed to wash from his face.

A fresh wave of pain crashed through him as though a layer of cotton wool was removed to reveal more. He fell to his knees, shock creeping in. He knew he’d been shot but the knowledge seemed far away, abstract in a way he knew it shouldn’t. His breath was tight, he found it difficult to breathe in and the pain was swallowing him whole.

He found himself on his back on the ground staring up at the pale blue Georgian sky. It was endless, a fresh warm wash of colour that disappeared in all directions beyond his vision.

Shanes face swam into the centre of his vision, his eyes wide and panicked as pressure crushed down onto his torso, hard enough to make his cry out with what little breath he had.

Shane was shouting over his shoulder, his voice high with worry before returning to look at Rick. He was talking, his mouth moving fast and his eyes darting over Rick quickly. Rick’s ears were ringing so loud he couldn’t make out what he was saying, he couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar of blood and ringing in his ears.

 _I should hate him_. The thought drifted through his mind and for a second he couldn’t think why that was.

It seemed apt, dying like this. He’d always said he wanted to die of old age in bed, surrounded by his family, Lori, Carl and a host of grandchildren. But he’d never really thought that would happen.

In the dark corner of his mind where he hid the anger and the love for adrenaline and danger, he’d always imagined dying like this. His best friend holding him together as he lay under the pale sky.

Rick let his eyes drift from Shane’s face and towards a small wisp of cloud that had drifted into view. He admired it for a moment, the small smear of white in the sea of the sky.

The cloud blurred, becoming indistinct as darkness closed in at the edges and he thought how nice it was to die like he’d always imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry?  
>  One more chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

There was a low incessant buzzing next to Rick’s ear. A hollow sounding noise that didn’t shift in pitch or tempo. It crept into Rick’s fuzzy mind and stole the sleep and sanity away from him.

He came awake slowly, the light and noises in the room were different every time he got a glimpse through blurry eyes. When he finally had enough energy to keep his eyes open for longer than a second, the room was dim and silvery with pale dawn light.

There was the chill to the room that always existed in hospitals, a stale quality to the air and the strong smell of detergent and disinfectant. He rocked his head gently to the side and saw a vase of small wild flowers on the bedside table along with a drooping balloon and a magazine.

His gaze roved around the small room. The curtains that covered the wide window to his side were partially open, letting in the silvery light which cast a pale hue to the hard edges of the room.

He lay still and watched the sky lighten, silver turning to pinks and golds like a watercolour. He felt like he’d watched a lot of sunrises in the last few weeks and for a moment, as he’d laid bleeding out on the hard packed earth and looked up at the pale blue sky, he’d truly believed he would never see another one.

Sometime later the hospital ward seemed to wake up. Sound grew to a steady thrum which was so different to the almost eerie quiet of the night shift. Not silent, a hospital is never silent, especially with the hum beside his head, but quiet.

A nurse bustled into the room on confident steps. Rick’s head jerked to the side at the intrusion, sending hazy pain through his body. The nurse jumped and made the tray in his hand clatter loudly and she raised a hand to her heart.

“Mr Grimes, you’re awake.” With that she started moving, talking quickly into the room phone and poking and prodding at him before firing off a litany of fast paced questions which all seemed remarkably similar to him and made his head spin.  

He faded out again when he thought the questions were over. The sleep felt uneasy, almost exhausting to endure, but even still he wanted to stay when he began to creep back to the surface.

The light was brighter this time, a bright hot light which flooded in from the large windows.

There were hushed voices in the room and when Rick tilted his head he saw Lori at his bedside, curls a dark halo around her head. There were bags under her eyes and she looked pale and drawn even as she smiled at Carl who sat beside her.

Rick’s chest felt like it would split open with joy at the sight of his boy. He must have made some noise because the pair of them turned to look at him. They beamed and Lori’s eyes grew wide and damp.

“Dad!” Carl shouted and leapt towards the bed. He was gentle despite his enthusiasm and Rick lifted his right arm shakily and wrapped it around his son, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of his boy warm him to his bones.

Carl eventually pulled back and Rick blinked open wet eyes and smiled as Carl started talking excitedly, waving his hands around like his mum.

Rick faded back to sleep before he wanted to and when he woke next it was the deep darkness of night. He imagined he could still feel the warmth of Carl in his arms and smell the faint whiff of Lori’s perfume.

 

The days ran together, he drifted in and out of sleep and woke from hazy half remembered dreams that didn’t make sense. Sometimes he dreamt of the fire, the fight in the barn, wandering along a road with a crossbow in his hands, getting lost in the woods, chasing a figure with angel wings, Lori glowing and pregnant on the front steps of his childhood home. Shane as he was when they were in training, arrogant and smiling, one arm over Rick’s shoulder in the middle of a training field.

He woke agitated and with gritty eyes, his exhaustion annoyed him though the doctors assured him it was just his body’s way of healing, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He had a string of visitors. Most of the station came to visit him, Lori and Carl spent a couple of hours most afternoons with him, longer on the weekend and Lori drifting in and out throughout the day no matter how many times Rick told her she didn’t have to and she’d look at him with wide, damp eyes, her mouth tight around the hurt and not say anything.

Shane appeared like clockwork every Tuesday and Thursday at eleven thirty. The atmosphere was tense between them and usually by the time the half hour was up they’d barely said a word to each other.

The first day Shane had sobbed into his hands when he thought Rick was asleep, his large shoulders convulsing under the quiet sobs. Rick’s chest had ached for his friend, for the boy who he’d grown up with and who he’d thought would take on the world for him.

The betrayal burned too badly, it was the sick twist alongside anger in his throat which stopped the reassuring words, the welcome and forgiveness both Lori and Shane wanted. That they looked for hopefully whenever they entered the hospital room.

Rick wondered if the hurt would ever lessen enough for him to offer it to them. 

A week after he woke up Shane sighed heavily into the room, he shifted uncomfortably in the chair and looked at Rick who fidgeted with the remote of his tv.

“They’re looking into the barn. They’ve already cleared the shooting, I mean shit, between the dash cams and all of our statements it was simple, but the barn…” he looked a mix of angry and worried. “Some of the statements don’t sound so good for you. Nobodies pinning you for anything,” he rushed to reassure Rick, “but they got to look into it.”

Shane watched Rick as though waiting for something, though Rick didn’t know what he could be expecting. He nodded once and returned his gaze to the match on the tv.

Shane huffed a breath and left the room. Rick let himself sink back into the pillows and close his eyes. He could lose his job over that, he could be charged. Nothing about that night was clear cut.

When Rick found himself on his knees on that hard packed earth, a gun to his head, he’d ceased to be a cop, he’d become a survivor. He’d fought with lethal intent, not to subdue.

It wouldn’t surprise him at all if they ruled the whole incident bad and took his badge and his gun. A fight like that doesn’t happen to good people.

 

Rick got used to people drifting in over the course of the day to wish him well. He tried to ignore the absent visitor who never arrived, though each time footsteps rounded the corner when he was awake his breath would pause in anticipation.

He hated himself for it, but he was in pain so he didn’t put too much effort into it.

 

Kendel came to visit him, he looked shaken and exhausted. He sunk into the chair beside his bed and looked at Rick with wide earnest eyes.

“I didn’t know man, I swear I didn’t know.” He shook his head and closed his eyes, swallowing thickly.

Rick was reminded that this man lost his partner that day.  Despite what Rick felt about Lenny in the end, the anger, the betrayal, he had been a friend for years, he’d been a brother in arms and Kendel partner.

“He was always so organised man, he’d handle the paperwork and I’d just...” a muscle jumped in his jaw, “I’d just sign what I needed to, write what he said.” When he opened his eyes they were glossy with tears and bloodshot. “I was stupid. But I trusted him, he was such a _good cop._ ” He seemed to get a grip of himself and shook his head, rubbing angrily at his eyes and sitting straighter. “I’m sorry man, you don’t need to hear this shit, I just… I just wanted you to know I didn’t have anything to do with this. I wouldn’t have…” he shrugged helplessly before standing and walking out of the room without looking back.

Rick watched the doorway he’d disappeared through and breathed a long sigh.

 

Rick came to again, the curtains had been closed so the late morning sun was dulled to a murky glow. Rick’s head didn’t throb this time, the room less blinding then it had been every other time he’d woken up.

Turning his head to the side he saw the scruffy figure of Daryl sitting by his bed. His booted feet where up on the bedside table and he looked dark and out of place in the sterile hospital room. A welcome blight on the room Rick was beginning to hate.

Daryl hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, he was flipping through the magazine he was holding, his face frozen in a look of scornful confusion.

“Are you reading Martha Stewart?” Rick’s voice was as rough as gravel and hurt his throat to speak. Daryl looked up from the magazine in his hands.

“It was the only thing in here.”  He looked back at the magazine before flipping it around to show Rick a double page spread of a nice living room. “You reckon my TV room could be like this?”

“Purple? Not really your colour.” Daryl’s mouth twitched and he flipped the magazine back around, studying the image carefully. When he spoke Rick could hear amusement in his voice.

“Not even with a couple of pillows, some ugly arse paintings on the wall-”

“Couple of throw rugs.” Daryl looked up, his eyebrows knitted together.

“What the fuck is a throw rug?” Rick laughed, the sound bursting out of him in a breathy noise. He regretted it instantly, his chest bursting into hot pain and the air left him all at once, leaving his lungs tight and screaming.

Daryl gave an aborted movement as though to help but realising there was nothing he could do. Rick waved a hand at him and shot him a smile as he caught his breath.

“How’ve you been man?” he asked. Daryl’s mouth quirked in amusement and he shrugged one broad shoulder.

“I’m fine, I ain’t been the one sleeping in.” Rick hesitated but the pain killers he was on dulled the doubt and embarrassment at his own neediness enough to ask.

“Where you been?” Daryl shifted awkwardly on the hard seat, looking away from Rick and picking at his nail. “I’ve been awake for a while now, was wondering if you knew.” Daryl rolled his eyes and let out a derisive snort.

“Local cop hero wakes from coma. Yeah I knew, everyone in Georgia knew.” He turned his attention back to picking at his nail, his shoulders still and tense. “Figured, you know, you might not wanna see me. Make up with the wife and all.”

“Getting shot didn’t change what she did.”

“Don’t people get all…” Daryl waved a hand in the air, “Holy and forgiving after nearly dying. “You know, new lease on life and shit.” Rick shrugged his good shoulder and rested his head back into the pillows as he sighed.

“Still don’t explain why I wouldn’t want to see you.”

“Cause we fought and shit. Got you involved in all this.”

“You also saved my life.”

They sunk into silence and Rick had the feeling Daryl wasn’t as convinced of that as Rick was. He eyed the other man as he turned his attention back to the magazine, flipping pages and barely glancing at them.

Daryl had been so angry the day it all went down, pacing and wild outside Rick’s hotel, he’d looked spooked and seconds from lashing out. Rick supposed he was lucky Daryl had walked away instead of turning the argument physical like he suspected was his first instinct. The argument was bad enough, Rick still wanted to cringe away from how stupid and clumsy he’d been that day.

Daryl spoke, clearly thinking about the same conversation. He didn’t look up from the magazine he was restlessly flicking through and Rick had to wonder if it was nerves that was making him so fidgety.

“I might,” he croaked before clearing his throat and frowning down at the magazine. “I might be, you know,” he looked up, steeling himself and meeting Rick’s gaze defiantly, “A fag.”

With the words out he looked like he was waiting for a hit but had decided to fight. He supposed it was a huge thing for anyone and Rick had seen the world Daryl lived in and had met his family. This was bigger than coming out, this was going against everything he was raised to hate.

Rick didn’t know how to react, he’d asked the question but that didn’t mean he was prepared for the answer.

He supposed he should’ve been more surprised than he was, Daryl was tougher than nails, had fought off three men in a burning barn, had been bruised from different fights and hunting incidents since the day they’d met. He was the opposite of every stereotype for gay there was, except for how handsome he was.

Before he had the chance to formulate any kind of response and was hoping his face was doing something right, there were steps in the doorway and Lori rounded the corner into the room.

Daryl was up and out of his chair before she’d made it a foot into the room, pushing past her surprised form with a growl.

“Dumb bitch.” He spat, eyeing her up and down with an ugly look on his face. “Don’t know how lucky you had it.”

With that he was gone and Rick was left with a stunned, wide eyed Lori.

 

Rick slept restlessly that night. They were easing back on the drugs and the ache in his side was letting him know how it was going.

He was still awake for the morning shift change. He greeted the morning nurse with a grunt and closed his eyes in exhaustion at the increase of activity on the ward.

He didn’t let the hope form, but he was disappointed all the same when Daryl didn’t come to visit him that day.

 

It was three days before they let him start moving on his own. He made a bee line to the attached bathroom. Leaning heavily against the wall and propping himself against the basin as he eyed the beard which had settled in thickly across his jaw.

He’d liked the stubble, he’d even liked when it could be classed as a short beard, but this was becoming too much and he’d rather shave it clean and start again than let it continue as it was.

He worked meticulously, focusing on the task at hand and being careful not to slip with his shaking hands or fall down when he’d been upright too long.

It was strange to see himself clean shaven again, it hadn’t been that long since he’d made the impulsive decision, but he’d grown fond of the dark shadow across his face and it was strange to see the angles return.

Daryl appeared in the doorway of the small bathroom when Rick was drying off his face. His reflection was slightly warped by the thin industrial mirrors they had in places like this.

He turned to face the other man, the world teetered dangerously and Daryl took a step forward before Rick could wave him off with his good arm.

Daryl’s attention was fixed on the bandage over his ribs, it was freshly changed and shone a bright white against his skin. Rick watched as Daryl raised a hand as though to touch it but faltered, his hand hanging in the space between them and Rick remembered the night which felt like a lifetime ago, when he had woken to a gently touch to his chest.

It had danced in and out of his mind since. With everything that had happened since, he was surprised by how clearly the memory came to him. As did the memory of Daryl, uncomfortable and fidgeting at his bedside telling Rick he thought he was gay.

He’d thought about it since it happened, between doctors’ visits and the long empty hours of the night when he ached too much to sleep and the hours stretched on. He’d thought about how comfortable he was with Daryl, how he’d been drawn to the other man since the moment they’d met, had tried to extend whatever time they had together, drawn into his quiet orbit.

Rick had paid more attention to Daryl then he’d paid anyone since he’d first fallen for Lori.

The decision in the end wasn’t so much impulsive or calculated it was instinctual. More than anything it felt right, like a natural progression and an explanation for a fascination which had plagued him since the day he met Daryl, coiled and ready to fight in his own front yard.

He caught the large calloused hand that hung between them, wrapping his own fingers around the other mans and gripped them tight, letting his fingertips run along the rough, tanned and scarred skin he’d looked at more than he’d admitted to himself and drew the other man forward.

Daryl’s eyes were wide and wary, Rick moved slowly, thinking of skittish cats and how to deal with wild animals, slow, broadcasted movements with an eye to the claws.

When their lips made contact it was little more than a brush of skin, but he felt the shuddered breath that punched itself out of Daryl’s nose and felt the way his body shivered like a strung wire.

He pressed another kiss to Daryl’s lips, a little more pressure and a distinctive kiss this time. Just enough to fill his nose with the other man’s smell and to hint at the musky taste of him, the rasp of stubble and wiry hair prickled across his freshly shaved skin in a foreign but welcome way.

Rick pulled back to see Daryl rolling his lips into his mouth and his eyes narrowed and fixed on him.

“Don’t fuck around with me man.”

“I’m not.”

“Than what…?” Daryl trailed off, his brow furrowing in confused annoyance and Rick knew he’d done the right thing by the bloom of affection he felt for the other man.

“We’ll see where it goes.” He shrugged, playing at a confidence and assurance he wasn’t sure he felt. “Now can you help me back to my bed? I’ve been standing too long and am going to end up on my arse in a second.”

Daryl’s eyes shot to the bandage again and the frown was replaced with a pinched, concerned mouth.

He reached forward without hesitation, taking most of Rick’s weight onto his large frame and led him slowly back into the hospital room, placing him carefully on the edge of his bed and hovering at his side as Rick rearranged himself under the sheets.

Rick leant back into the pillows and sighed when his head stopped spinning. He looked at the other man who was chewing nervously on his lip as he watched him, his eyes darting around the room as though looking for something to make him better.

Rick smiled fondly at Daryl who shrugged and tried to pretend he wasn’t worried as he sunk into the chair at his bedside.

Under his bangs and ducked head, Rick saw the small twist of a pleased smile on Daryl face and felt his own grow in reply.

 End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end. I know I for one am exhausted by this! Though I am maybe working on a (2) new stories I shall hope to post here eventually... :D
> 
> Thank you so much for all your Kudos and comments, they make my day and I am so beyond happy that people like this retched story I've been slaving over for months. 
> 
> I like to think this story is made up of three stories, One, the Rodrigues murder and Rick (and Daryl's) involvement. Two, Rick's marriage problems and Three, Daryl's growing sexuality. It's a fascinating thing to investigate which I will no doubt explore again and again and again...  
> It's funny to think that this WHOLE story came about by Norman Reedus saying Daryl probably spent a lot of time in the bathroom with a victoria secrets catalague. That inspired the scene at the start of chapter 2 and I just had to figure out a story behind it. wow, funny how these things happen.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this, it makes me so proud and happy. Also, thanks to underacherrytree who beta'd a couple of chapters before RL got in the way.  
> It's been a hell of a ride and I hope to have another one with you all soon!


End file.
